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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 


MR.&   MRS.    GODWIN   J.PELISSERO 


'    v.' 


* 


LATE  EMPRESS  EUGENIE. 


SIGHTS   AND  SENSATIONS 


IN 


EUROPE; 


SKETCHES     OF 


TRAVEL   AND    ADVENTURE    IN    ENGLAND,  IRELAND,  FRANCE, 
SPAIN,  PORTUGAL,  GERMANY,   SWITZERLAND.  ITALY, 
AUSTRIA,  POLAND,  HUNGARY,  HOLLAND,  AND 
BELGIUM,  WITH  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE 
PLACES  AND   PERSONS   PROMI- 
NENT   IN    THE    FRANCO- 
GERMAN    WAR, 


J"XJiNriXJ3   ZEiUZilxTIFtl   IBIR.O'WXNriE, 
Author  of  "Four  Tears  in  Secessia,"  and  "The  Great  Metropolis." 


L»  li,i >  XT  U HE  Li  Y    I  L.T/CJMr±"rS  ATE  I>. 


PJSLISH^  BY  S'J3333IPII0H  0HL7. 


HARTFORD,  CONN.: 

AMERICAN      PUBLISHING      COMPANY. 

A.  ROMAN  &  CO.,  San  Francisco. 


1871. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  rear  1871,  by 

AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  CO. 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


T° 

Those  Who   I^ave   Been  to   ^urope, 
And  To   Those  Who    Have   Not, 

tw  ypww 

(such  as  it  is), 

Tn  the  Hope  that  the  Two  Classes  May  Become 

its   Purchasers, 

js    mercenarily   inscribed. 


PKEFACE. 


For  some  reason,  never  made  clear  to  me,  every  American  is 
supposed  to  know  all  about  Europe.  I  always  fancied  such  complete 
knowledge  to  be  mine  until  I  went  abroad,  and  found  my  mistake. 
In  attempting  to  describe  so  many  countries  in  a  single  volume 
much  of  the  description  must  necessarily  be  mere  outline.  I  have 
devoted  the  most  space  to  what  seemed  least  familiar,  and  have  tried 
to  give  clearly  and  unambitiousdy  a  general  view  of  the  Old  World. 
My  theme,  I  am  aware,  is  very  ancient,  and  if  its  treatment  prove 
tiresome,  the  fault  must  be  ascribed  to  the  author's  good  fortune  (the 
reader's  corresponding  ill  fortune  is  not  here  to  be  taken  into  account) 
in  securing  that  most  desirable  of  all  critics — a  Publisher.  "While  the 
book  has  been  going  through  the  press,  the  situation  in  France  has 
changed  so  rapidly  that  I  have  spoken  for  the  most  part  of  the  coun- 
try and  the  capital  as  if  the  War  had  not  been. 

J.  H.  B. 

New  York,  May,  1871. 


PAGB 

Late  Empress  Eugenie Frontispiece.    — 

An,  Serene 18 

Shaved  in  Two  Minutes 22 

Tipping 25 

Good  for  a  Sovereign 26 

Thd3d  Class  Railway  Carriage 28 

A  Hansom  Cab 30 

St.  Paul's  Cathedral 33 

Street  Beggar 36 

A  Fleet  Street  Groggery 36 

Spurgeon 40 

Bathing  at  Hyde  Park 44 

Delivering  the  "  Times  " 45 

After  the  Dance ., 47 

An  English  Beauty 48 

Tower  op  London  (Full  Page),  face  page 64 

Shakespeare 66 

My  Guide 67 

Shakespeare's  House „ 70 

Fatal  News 74 

Tunnel  in  the  Mine 76 

Nelson's  Monument 104 

Peggy  on  her  Low  Back  Car 107 

Monument  to  Daniel  O'Connell 108 

"  May  You  Niver  Want  a  Pound  " 112 

Boulevard  St.  Michel, 129 

Place  de  la  Bastille  130 

Universal  Politeness 132 

The  Hotel  de  Ville 134 

Graves  of  Abelard  and  Heloise 137 

Church  of  St.  Genevieve 138 

Church  of  St.  Sulpice 139 

Hotel  des  Invalides 140 

Paris  Views  and  Buildings  (Full  Page),  face  page 160 

Napoleon  HI.  (Full  Page),  face  page 186 


8  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

General  MacMahon  (Full  Page),  pace  page 216 

Mountain  Travel  (Full  Page),  face  page 234 

Madrid  (Full  Page),  face  page 240 

Bull  Fight  (Full  Page),  face  page 256 

Peasant  Costume 291 

Peasant  Costume 293 

German  Festival 296 

Beer  Drinking 300 

Bismarck  (Full  Page),  face  page 320 

Gambling  Scene  (Full  Page),  face  page 340 

Emperor  William  (Full  Page),  face  page 356 

Emperor's  Palace— Berlin 358 

Prince  Frederic  William 359 

Palace  of  the  Crown  Prince 360 

Prince  Frederic  Charles 363 

Baron  Von  Moltke 365 

Lake  Como  (Full  Page),  face  page 379 

Climbing  Mont  Blanc  (Full  Page),  face  page 400 

Genoese  Women 430 

Columbus  Monument 431 

Church  Beggars 435 

Leaning  Tower 436 

Wayside  Shrine 437 

Live  Saint 467 

A  Dead  Saint 469 

The  Vatican 472 

St.  Peter's,  Rome 474 

The  Pope  Blessing  the  Populace 475 

The  Pope's  Hat 476 

Bat  of  Naples  (Full  Page),  face  page .' 480 

Garden  Scene  (Full  Page),  face  page 528 

Down  the  Shaft 534 

Getting  Out  Salt 537 

Fete  in  the  Grand  Chamber 538 

The  Infernal  Lake 540 


CHAPTER    I. 


ON    AND   OVER  SEA. 


PAGE. 


24 


Ocean  Travel — The  Advantage  of  Freedom  from  Sea  Sickness— A  Quoter 
of  Poetry  Justly  Punished — The  Sentiment  of  a  Bridal  Couple  Destroy- 
ed hy  a  Storm — First  Impressions  of  England — Liverpool  and  its  Lions 
— Its  Wealthy  Merchants— Custom  House  Officers,      -        -        -        -    17 

CHAPTER    II. 

LONDON. 

Match- Vending  a  Pretext  for  Begging — Tipping  as  a  Social  Science — The 
Theaters— A  Tragedian  of  the  Past— Droll  Scene  at  Sadlers  Wells- 
Cabs  and  Cabmen — A  Labyrinthine  City — The  Times  Establishment — 
St.  Paul's — Billingsgate — Over  Eight  Thousand  Spirit  Shops — Drunk- 
en Women  Repulsively  Abundant, 

CHAPTER    III. 

SPURGEON. 

The  Tabernacle — The  Great  Crowd  in  Attendance — Paying  for  Admission 
— Appearance  and  Manner  of  the  Famous  Clergyman — The  Whole 
Congregation  Singing — The  Secret  of  his  Power  and  Popularity, 

CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   BRITISH    METROPOLIS. 

Some  of  its  Notable  Features — The  Daily  Press — Strange  Scandal  about 
the  Duke  of  Wellington — Evenings  at  the  Alhambra — A  Peculiar  Ball 
at  the  Cremorne  Gardens — White  Bait — English  Beauty — The  Estab- 
lished Church — Dean  Stanley  of  Westminster, 43 


39 


A  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    V. 

THE   BRITISH   PROVINCES. 

The  Manufacturing  Towns — Chatsworth,  the  Splendid  Estate  of  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire — Haddon  Hall  and  its  Ghost — York  and  its  Renowned 
Cathedral — Newcastle  and  its  Smoke,    -        -        -        -        -        -        -51 

CHAPTER    VI. 

WARWICKSHIRE. 

Leamington — Kenilworth — Modern  Vandalism— Warwick  Castle — Pompous 
Flunkies — Guy's  Cliff — Romance  of  the  American  Dwarf — Newstead 
Abbey — Superstition  Concerning  a  Skull  of  One  of  Byron's  Ancestors     58 

CHAPTER    VH. 

STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 

A  Quaint  Old  Town — The  Sole  Guide  in  the  Place — Shakespeare  more 
American  than  English — The  Church  in  which  the  Poet  is  Buried — 
His  House  and  its  Museum — Anne  Hathaway's  Cottage — What  it  Sug- 
gests,      65 

CHAPTER    VHI. 

DESCENT   INTO   A   COAL   PIT. 

PAGE. 

Strange  and  Tragical  History  of  a  Coal  Mine — Exploring  the  Bowels  of  the 
Earth — Two  Thousand  Feet  Under  Ground — Walking  Beneath  the 
Sea — The  Miners  at  Work — A  Melancholy  and  Unnatural  Life — To- 
phet  on  a  Small  Scale, 73 

CHAPTER    IX. 

NORTHERN   IRELAND. 

Belfast  and  its  Prosperity — The  Giant's  Causeway  and  its  Vicinity — Lon- 
donderry— The  Famous  Siege — Its  Defenders  Unusually  Prolific — The 
Birthplace  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington — Celtic  Gasconading — Ruins  in 
Uninteresting  Abundance — Overweening  Self-Love  of  the  People,         -     80 

CHAPTER    X. 

IRELAND. 

The  Wild  District  of  Connemara — Still  in  the  Region  of  the  Royal  O's — 
Visit  to  a  Gipsy  Camp — Revelations  of  the  Queen  of  the  Tribe — Irish 
Fairs — The  Palmy  Days  of  Donnybrook — Limerick — Sad  Story  of  a 
Florentine  in  Quest  of  his  Stolen  Bells — Reminescences  of  Lola  Montez 
— New  Version  of  her  History — Beauties  of  the  Lakes  of  Killamey — 
Importunities  and  Annoyances  of  Beggars,  Guides  and  Bores  of  All 
Sorts, 88 


CONTENTS.  xi 

CHAPTER    XI. 

DUBLIN. 

PAGE. 

Idealization  of  the  Irish  Capital  by  the  Milesian  Mind — Commercial  Stagna- 
tion of  the  Metropolis — Hospitality  of  its  People — Deplorable  Poverty 
in  the  Liberties — Elastic  and  Cheerful  Spirits  under  the  Greatest  Ad- 
versity— Notable  Objects — Trinity  College — Its  Unique  Graduates — 
Phoenix  Park — Duels  and  Duelists  of  a  Past  Generation — Grotesque 
Riding  in  the  Jaunting  Car — Glasnevin  Cemetery — O'Connell  and  Cur- 
ran's  Tombs — Amusing  Scenes  at  the  Theater — Excitement  of  the  Gal- 
lery Audiences, 99 

CHAPTER  XII. 

IRELAND. 

Native  Wit  and  Humor — The  Twelve  Apostles  as  Postal  Clerks — The 
Grave  Stones  of  the  Miles'  Family — The  Limerick  Bar-Maid — A  Porter 
who  Had  Been  Dipped  in  the  Shannon — A  Cajoling  Jehu — Scenery  of 
County  Wicklow— The  Vale  of  Avoca— The  Shillelagh  Wood— Hiber- 
nian Idea  of  Fun — The  Fairs  of  Ballinasloe — Spanish  Character  of  Gal- 
way — Peculiarities  of  the  Claddagh        - Ill 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE    PROVINCE    OF   MUNSTER. 

Going  to  Blarney  Castle — Origin  of  the  Term  Blarney  and  History  of  the 
Blarney  Stone — Search  for  the  Genuine  Stone — Garrulous  and  Gascon- 
ading Guides — The  Groves  of  Blarney  a  Sham — Cork  and  the  Bells 
of  Shandon — Delightful  Sail  Down  the  Lee — Passionate  Partings  and 
Sentimental  Woes  of  Emigrants  Quitting  their  Native  Country — Men 
in  Agony  and  Women  in  Hysterics — Impracticability  of  the  People — 
Their  Inextinguishable  Cheerfulness — Their  Dissatisfaction  Difficult  to 
Remove, 119 

CHAPTER     XIV. 

THE   FRENCH    CAPITAL. 

The  Advantage  of  Visiting  Paris — How  Most  Strangers  See  it — The  Proper 
Mode  of  Enjoying  the  City — The  American  Colony — The  Grand  Hotel 
— The  Theaters — The  Boulevards — Their  Brilliancy  at  Night — Conti- 
nental Annoyances  of  Travelers — The  Place  de  la  Bastille — Feminine 
Freedom  on  the  Seine — Courtesy  Universally  Observed — The  Parisian 
Love  of  Talking — Story  of  a  Pastry  Cook  and  his  Wife — Extraordin- 
ary Denouement.  126 


xii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER     XV. 

MAGNIFICENCE    OF   PARIS. 


Pere  la  Chaise— Disappointment  in  the  Cemetery — Search  for  the  Tomb  of 
Abelard  and  Heloise — Women  of  the  Humble  Class  Moved  by  Senti- 
ment—Abelard  one  of  the  Most  Heartless  and  Selfish  of  Men — The 
Churches  of  the  City — The  Hotel  des  Invalides  and  Tomb  of  Napoleon 
— The  Bourse  —  Frantic  Stock-Buyers— Screaming  Speculators— A 
Complete  Financial  Bedlam — A  Foolish  Follower  of  Fortune — A  Young 
Man  Wasting  Life  for  Wealth— A  Mother's  Agony  over  the  Cradle  of 
her  Child, - 136 

CHAPTER     XVI. 

LIFE    IN    PARIS. 

A  Bad  Place  for  Bad  Tendencies— How  Young  Men  Study  on  the  Conti- 
nent— The  "Grand  Duchess"  Schneider— The  Women  of  the  Capital 
— Difficulty  Pretty  Girls  Have  in  Securing  Places — Their  Countless 
Temptations — American  Women  on  the  Seine — Cheap  and  Satisfactory 
Living — Story  of  La  Perine,  the  Popular  News-Dealer — Adroit  Adver- 
tising in  Her  Behalf. 143 

CHAPTER     XVII. 

NOVELTIES   OF   PARIS. 

The  French  Capital  as  a  Wicked  City— The  Cocotte  Balls— The  Valentino, 
Casino,  Chateau  Rouge,  Closerie  de  Lilas,  and  Jardin  Malille— Unique 
and  Extraordinary  Dancing  —  Indecency  of  the  Can-Can  —  Singular 
Mode  of  Getting  Rid  of  a  Wife — Ingenious  Manner  of  Making  a  Repu- 
tation— Peculiar  Experience  at  the  Morgue — Romantic  Fiction  about 
Clarisse  Demorne — New  Way  of  Gaining  a  Livelihood,        -        -        -  149 

CHAPTER     XVIII. 

ROMANCE   AND    MURDER   IN    PARIS. 

French  Love  of  Horror — The  Great  Sensatioi^of  the  Pantin  Mtlrder — Ar- 
tistic Treatment  of  Subjects  by  the  Press — The  Sentimental  Cut-Throat 
of  the  Rue  St.  Honore — A  Waiter's  Inability  to  Understand  Strict  Ce- 
libacy— The  Notorious  Theresa  as  a  Singer — The  Original  of  Camille — 
Parisian  Students — A  Young  Coxcomb  Playing  the  Part  of  a  Blase 
Man  of  the  World — The  Convenience  of  Speaking  French,  -        -        -  155 

CHAPTER     XIX. 

CATACOMBS    OF   PARIS.     * 

Their  Situation  and  Extent— Three  and  a  Half  Millions  of  Persons  Buried 
in  Them — Setting  out  on  the  Dismal  Excursion — Groping  in  the  Dark- 
ness— Ghastly  Display  of  Bones  and  Skulls — The  Grinning  Hideousness 
of  Death — Victims  of  the  Great  Revolution — Theological  Inscriptions — 
Sight-Seers  Lost  in  the  Sombre  Labyrinth — Their  Terrible  Sufferings 
— And  Lingering  Agony — The  Relief  of  the  Bright  Sunshine,      -        -161 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

CHAPTER  XX. 

SOCIAL  STATUS   OF   PARIS. 

PAGX. 

France  Morally  Misunderstood — The  Capital  not  so  Black  as  Painted — Par- 
isian Ethics — The  Life  of  a  Lorette  on  the  Seine — The  Demi-Monde 
and  its  Spheres — The  Educated  Mistress — The  Grisette — The  Advent- 
uress— A  Glittering  but  Wretched  Career — The  Professional  Cyprian — 
The  Promenaders  on  the  Boulevards — The  Reckless  Night-Walkers — 
Peace  at  last  in  the  Morgue — Storm  and  Sunshine — Pain  and  Pleasure 
Strangely  Blended, 167 

CHAPTER     XXI. 

THE    CHIFFONNIERS    OF    PARIS. 

Everything  Reduced  to  a  System — Six  Hundred  Men,  "Women,  and  Children 
Engaged  in  Rag-Picking — Their  Industry  and  Dexterity — Nothing  Es- 
capes Them — The  Paradise  this  Country  Would  Prove — An  Unbroken 
Bottle  a  Rare  Prize — Great  Excitement  over  Three  Glass  Vessels — 
Where  and  How  They  Live — The  Fortune  of  the  Fork — Soup  of  All 
Sorts — The  Rag  Merchants — Prices  Paid  for  the  Miscellaneous  Gather- 
ings— Independence  and  Honesty  of  the  Tribe — Contented  in  their  Own 
Way, 174 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

LOUIS   NAPOLEON. 

Mystery  of  his  Birth — Early  Incidents  of  his  Life — His  One  Absorbing 
Thought  to  Rule  France — His  Mortifying  Failures — Final  Success — 
The  Famous  Coup  d'Etat — Return  of  Adversity — the  World's  Judg- 
ments Unstable — Constant  Anxieties  and  Apprehensions  of  the  Emperor 
— What  His  Friends  Claim  for  Him — His  Complex  Character — How 
he  Looks, 180 

CHAPTER     XXIII. 

THE    EX-EMPRESS    EUGENIE. 

Her  Romantic  and  Eventful  Career — Her  Cosmopolitan  Nature — How  She 
Brought  the  Emperor  to  Terms — Great  Popularity  with  the  People— 
The  Secret  History  of  her  Estrangement  from  her  Husband — Her  Loss 
of  Public  Favor  through  her  Superstition — Sending  the  State  Jewels  to 
the  Pope — Noble  Bearing  in  Adversity — Sympathy  with  the  Woman  in 
her  Sorrow, 186 

CHAPTER     XXIV. 

HENRI    ROCHEFORT. 

A  Thorough  Parisian— His  Passion  for  Excitement — Personal  Appearance 
of  the  Irreconcilable  Journalist — His  Resemblance  to  a  Mississippian  or 
Arkansan — A  Cool  Head  and  Hot  Heart — An  Aristocratic  Democrat— 
A  Red  Republican  through  Wounded  Vanity— His  Power  with  the 
Masses — A  Formidable  and  Unyielding  Foe, 191 


X1V  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE    CHIEF    FRENCH    CITIES. 

PAGE. 

Radical  Views  and  Sentiments  of  the  South — Lyons — The  Silk  and  Velvet 
Manufactures — Antiquity  of  the  City — Suburban  Residences  of  the 
Wealthy  Merchants  —  Prosaic  Version  of  Pauline  Deschapelles  and 
Claude  Melnotte's  Romance — Marseilles — A  Great  Seaport — All  Na- 
tions Represented  There — The  Province  of  Normandy — Rouen  —  Its 
Churches — Tomb  of  William  the  Conqueror — Havre — Cherbourg,        -  195 

•  CHAPTER     XXVI. 

SCENES  OF  THE  WAR. 

Geography  Made  Interesting  by  Battle — The  Rhine  Frontier — Champagne 
— The  Old  Province  Idealized — The  Region  and  the  People  as  They 
Actually  Are — The  Stronghold  of  Metz — Its  Loss  Very  Serious  to  the 
French — The  Ancient  City  of  Nancy — Verdun — Chalons — Rheims,  the 
Coronation  Place  of  the  Gallic  Kings — Sedan  and  the  Downfall  of  the 
Empire — The  Rivers  Meuse,  Moselle,  Loire,  and  Seine — the  Vosges 
Mountains — The  Duchy  and  City  of  Luxemburg — The  Strongest  Forti- 
fications Defied  by  the  German  Armies — Strasburg,  its  Cathedral,  Char- 
acteristics, and  Defences — Versailles  and  its  Splendors — Tours — Orleans 
— Bordeaux — Fontainebleau  and  St.  Cloud — Ravages  of  the  War,        -  203 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE     FRENCH     LEADERS. 

Generals  Uhrich,  MacMahon,  Bazaine,  Bourbaki,  Chanzy,  Faidherbe,  and 
Trochu — Principal  Events  in  their  Lives — Analysis  of  their  Characters 
— Thiers— His  Bitter  Opposition  to  Germany — A  Very  Energetic  Old 
Man — Jules  Favre — His  Personal  Appearance — Leon  Gambetta — An 
Italian-Looking  Frenchman — A  Restless  and  Daring  Nature,        -        -  214 

CHAPTER     XXVHL 

SPAIN. 

A  Land  of  Inconsistencies  and  Anomalies — Glorious  Visions  Destroyed  by 
Travel — Journeying  Beyond  the  Pyrenees — Excessive  Politeness — Ec- 
centricities of  Etiquette — Mine  Host  at  Valladolid — A  Calesero  at  Bur- 
gos— Theological  Courtesies — Great  Outward  Reserve  of  the  Women — 
A  Mantilla  more  Important  than  Marriage — National  Opposition  to 
Haste — Gallantry  an  Expensive  Habit  in  Andalusia — Money  the  Open 
Sesame  Everywhere. 221 


CONTENTS.  xv 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

TRAVELING    IN    SPAIN. 

PAGE. 

The  Diligencia  as  a  Means  of  Conveyance — Rough-and-Tumble  Riding — 
Studying  Character  on  the  Road — Muleteers  and  their  Oddities — The 
Maragatos — A  Guest  at  One  of  their  Weddings — Their  Melancholy  and 
Rudeness — The  Coach  of  Horse  Collars — The  Master  and  his  Assistant 
Swearing  at  and  Stoning  Mules — The  Great  Event  of  Starting  from  a 
Wayside  Inn — Ludicrous  Scenes — Castilian  Peasants — Native  Dignity,  230 

CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    CAPITAL. 

Burgos — Spires  of  Open  Stone-Work — Grave  of  the  Cid — His  Corpse  Knock- 
ing Down  a  Jew — Valladolid — Unpleasantness  of  Madrid — Vain  Ef- 
forts to  Remove  the  Capital — Its  Dangerous  Climate — Madrilenian 
Manner  of  Living — The  Castilian's  Idea  of  his  Eamily — His  Unquench- 
able Thirst — Gloomy  Streets  and  Squares — Professional  Mendicants — 
Ghastly  Spectacles — The  Bare  and  Dusty  Prado — The  Royal  Palace — 
Descent  into  the  Pantheon — The  Sarcophagi  of  Kings,  -        -        -  240 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

BULL   FIGHTS. 

A  Disagreeable  Duty  of  Travel — The  Bull  Ring — The  Spectators — Intro- 
ductory Flee-Catching  —  Fashionable  Women  and  their  Cavaliers — 
Beginning  of  the  Savage  Sport — A  Frightened  Beast — Disgust  of  the 
Audience  —  Better  Success  —  Bloody  Brutality  —  Sickening  Sight — 
Horses  Disemboweled — Murder  Most  Foul — A  Squeamish  American 
Retires — Disapproval  of  his  Conduct, 253 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

ANDALUSIA. 

Tropical  Aspect  of  the  South — Effects  of  the  Sun — True  Poetry,  Romance, 
and  Chivalry — Primitive  Customs  and  Singular  Superstitions — The 
City  of  Seville — The  Cathedral — The  Alcazar — The  Great  Government 
Tobacco  Factory — Hideous  Women — Holy  Week  and  its  Absurd  Dis- 
plays— The  Annual  Fair — Decay  of  Commerce — A  Street  Picture  for 
Murillo — Aged  Poverty,  Careless  Childhood,  and  Brute  Instinct  United,    259 

CHAPTER    XXXni. 

GRANADA. 

The  Old  Moorish  Capital — Danger  of  Romantic  Situations — Sentiment  Op- 
posed to  Logic — A  Susceptible  American  Girl  Loses  her  Heart  to  an 
Adventurer — A  French  Courier  Playing  the  Part  of  a  Ruined  Nobleman 
— An  Awkward  Dilemma — What  the  Alhambra  May  be  Responsible  For 
— The  Grand  Fortress-Palace — The  Tomb  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella — 
From  Malaga  to  Granada  on  Top  of  a  Diligence — The  Driver's  Opin- 
ion of  the  Model  Republic — Drowsy  Effect  of  Inferior  Castilian,  -        -  265 


xvi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

LISBON. 

PAGE. 

Improvement  of  the  Portuguese  Capital — Its  Picturesque  Appearance  from 
the  Tagus — Site  of  the  Inquisition — The  District  of  the  Terrible  Earth- 
quake— An  Extraordinary  Sermon — The  Roman  Catholic  Milennium 
Predicted — What  it  Will  be — A  Mixed  Population — The  Gallegos — 
Strange  Currency — Fabulous  Prices  for  the  Opera — The  City  not  very 
Attractive  to  Strangers, 273 

'    CHAPTER    XXXV. 

ALONG    THE    RHINE. 

Stuttgart — A  Tailor  Made  a  Baron — Carlsruhe — Heidelberg — Its  Old  Cas- 
tle— A  Superb  Ruin,  and  a  Strange  History — The  University — German 
Students  Anything  but  Picturesque  or  Interesting — Mannheim — An 
Economical  Place  to  Live — Mainz — Its  Handsome  Bridge  of  Boats — 
The  Markets  in  the  Public  Square — The  Rhine  and  its  Scenery — The 
Winding  Moselle — German  Enthusiasm  over  Everything  German,       -  278 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

GERMANY. 

Some  of  the  Prominent  Cities — Their  Distinctive  Features — Wilhelmshohe 
— Louis  Napoleon's  Captivity  There — The  Rothschilds — Their  Rise, 
Prosperity,  and  Power — Goethe's  House  in  Frankfort — Baron  Trench's 
Prison  at  Magdeburg — The  Book  Trade  and  Great  Fairs  of  Leipsic,     -  286 

CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

AUGSBURG    AND    MUNICH. 

An  Old  and  Interesting  City — The  Fugger  Family — Its  Immense  Fortunes 
Made  by  Commerce  —  Emperors  Indebted  to  the  Descendants  of  a 
Weaver — Superb  Bronzes  and  Ideal  Beer — German  Thirst  Unquencha- 
ble— The  German  Cemeteries — Exposure  of  the  Dead  before  Burial — 
Ghastly  and  Repulsive  Scenes — Vulgar  Curiosity  of  the  Crowd,  -        -  298 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

DRESDEN. 

Babies  and  Food — The  German  Appetite  and  its  Superabundant  Needs — 
Charming  Journey  down  the  Elbe — The  Scenery  along  the  River—  The 
Capital  of  Saxony — Its  Pleasant  Situation — A  Desirable  Place  of  Resi- 
dence— The  Great  Gallery — The  Magnificent  Treasures  of  the  Green 
Vault — The  Most  Splendid  Diamond  Collection  in  the  World — Invit- 
ing Suburbs  and  Delightful  Gardens, 306 


CONTENTS  xvij 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

BERLIN. 

PAGE. 

Rapid  Growth  of  the  City— Its  Promising  Future— Its  American  Appear- 
ance— Not  Attractive  in  its  Architecture — The  Unter  den  Linden  a 
Deep  Disappointment — Pictures  at  the  National  Gallery — Feminine 
Criticism  of  Lovers  on  Canvas — The  Ballet  at  the  Opera  House — The 
Tiergarten — The  Popular  Fondness  for  Festivity — The  Famous  Bronze 
Statue  of  Frederic  the  Great, 312 

CHAPTER    XL. 

BISMARCK. 

His  Ancestors — Wild  Life  as  a  Student — Audacious  Wife- Wooing — Quitting 
the  Army  for  Politics — Superb  Snubbing  of  a  Pompous  Count — His 
Success  as  a  Diplomatist — German  Unity  his  Ruling  Idea — Prosperous 
Mission  to  Russia — Embassador  to  Paris — The  Chancellor  a  Born  Aris- 
tocrat— His  Long  Course  of  Hectoring — Louis  Napoleon's  Boast — Re- 
venge at  Sedan — Personal  Appearance  of  the  Man,       ....  31s 

CHAPTER    XLI. 

POTSDAM. 

Inconsistencies  and  Idiosyncrasies  of  Frederic  the  Great — One  of  the  Worst 
of  Poets  and  Most  Singular  of  Heroes — His  Marble  Tomb — The  Sum- 
mer Palace  of  Baalsberg — A  Very  Comfortable  and  Truly  Refined  Home 
— The  New  and  Old  Palaces — The  Orangery  and  Sans  Souci — De- 
lightful Gardens — Triumph  of  Art  over  Nature — Vast  Fortunes  Ex- 
pended in  Beautifying  Grounds  and  Laying  Out  Parks,        -        -        -  323 

CHAPTER    XLII. 

THE   GERMAN   GAMBLING    SPAS — BADEN-BADEN. 

Topography  of  the  Place — Graceful  Masking — The  Tiger  in  Velvet — Inte- 
rior of  the  Conversation-House — What  is  Done  and  What  is  to  be  Seen 
There — The  Excitement  of  Hazard — A  Retired  Merchant  of  Antwerp 
Playing  at  Roulette — A  Venerable  and  Superstitious  Gamester — An 
Englishman  Gambling  for  Distraction — A  Fast  Young  American  Ruin- 
ed at  Trente-et-Quarante — A  Desperate  Italian  Adventurer — A  Suspic- 
ious Rover — The  Restless  Woman  who  Always  Loses — The  Wife  of  a 
Noted  Musician  Staking  her  Florins — Seductive  and  Dangerous  Gayety 
— Hypocrisy  of  the  Direction, 329 

CHAPTER    XLIII. 

WIESBADEN. 

The  Town  and  its  Waters — The  Health-Seekers  and  Pleasure-Hunters — The 
Former  in  the  Minority — The  Kursaal — The  Crowd  at  the  Gaming 
Tables — The  Secret  of  Fortune — The  Blindness  and  Unreason  of  the 
Votaries  of  Play — Age  and  Avarice — Youth  and  Recklessness — Femi- 
nine Gamesters — Those  who  Risk  Much  and  Those  who  Risk  Little — 
The  Infatuation  of  Trente-et-Quarante  —  The  Volcano  Beneath  the 
Snow,    -        -        -  33b 


xviii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

HOMBOURG. 

PAGE. 

Superb  Saloons  and  Well-Bred  Management — Mode  of  Playing  Roulette 
and  Trente-et-Quarante — The  Polly  of  Studying  Combinations — Men 
Bent  on  Ruin — Women  Wrought  to  Desperation — How  Different  Na- 
tions Gamble — The  German  Cautious — The  Englishman  Variable — 
The  Spaniard  Anxious — The  Frenchman  Excited — The  Italian  Reflect- 
ive— The  Russian  Free-Handed — The  American  Careless — Delightful 
Gardens — A  Quiet  Spot  for  Bankrupts  to  Commit  Suicide — Love-Mak- 
ing  in  Public — A  New  Order  Needed — "  All  Kissing  Forbidden  Here,"   342 

CHAPTER    XLV. 

EMS. 

Situation  and  Age  of  the  Watering  Place — The  Quality  of  its  Patrons — A 
Pair  of  Hypochondriacs — The  Silent  Enigma — What  would  You  not 
Give  to  Pluck  out  the  Heart  of  her  Mystery  1 — A  Princely  Blackguard 
— Singular  Confessions  of  an  Adventuress — The  Other  Side  of  a  Shad- 
owed Life  Clearly  Revealed — A  Woman  Tried  in  the  Crucible  of  Afflic- 
tion— Which  is  the  Dross  and  Which  the  Gold  1 — Personal  Losses — A 
Debt  that  Never  will  be  Collected, 349 

CHAPTER    XLVI. 

EMPEROR  WILLIAM   AND   THE    CROWN   PRINCE. 

William's  Antecedents — What  he  is,  What  he  has  Been,  and  What  he 
Might  Have  Been — His  Rare  Good  Fortune — Analysis  of  his  Character 
— No  Favorite  with  his  Liberal  Subjects — The  Prince's  Good  and  Bad 
Qualities — More  Popularity  than  his  Father— Will  he  Improve  or  In- 
jure the  Succession  ? 356 

CHAPTER    XLVIL 

THE    PRUSSIAN    ARMY   AND    ITS    CHIEFS. 

The  Military  Organization  and  Service  of  the  Country — Prince  Frederic 
Charles — General  Von  Moltkc — Steinmetz — Von  Werder — Manteuffel 
and  Von  Roon — What  they  Have  Done  and  How  they  Look — Their 
Individual  Capacities,  361 

CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

MONT    CENIS. 

Railroad  up  the  Mountain — Heavy  Grades — View  of  the  Valley — Susa — 
The  Great  Tunnel — Machinery  Used  for  Excavating — Immense  Drills 
— Effects  of  a  Blast — Accidents — Rate  of  Progress — Ultimate  Success,   368 


CONTENTS.  Xix 

I 

CHAPTER   XLIX. 

SWITZERLAND   AND   NORTH    ITALY. 

PAGE. 

Boundary  Lines — Character  of  the  Swiss — Magnificence  of  the  Country  and 
Wretchedness  of  the  People — Lake  Como — Claude  and  Pauline — 
Handsome  Villas  and  Towns — Mountains  and  Islands — Alpine  Passes 
—Down  the  Mountain,  -        -  -  '  -        -        -        -377 

CHAPTER    L. 

IN   SWITZERLAND. 

Swiss  Cottages — Lake  Geneva — Castle  of  Chillon — Geneva — Watch-Mak- 
ing— John  Calvin — Jean  Jacques  Rosseau — Americans  Abroad,  -        -  386 

CHAPTER    LI. 

CLIMBING   MONT    BLANC. 

Training  for  the  Task — The  Vale  of  Chamonix — Introductory  Excursions 
— The  Earliest  Ascents — Defiance  of  the  Sublime  Peak — Prepared  with 
Cords,  Hooks,  and  Ladders  to  Set  Out — Slippery  Climbing — Endless 
Snow  and  Ice — Frozen  Feet  and  Burning  Brain — Perilous  Crossing  of 
Crevasses — Danger  at  Every  Step — Dreadful  Accident  on  the  Matter- 
horn — Five  Men  over  a  Frightful  Precipice — On  a  Ladder  along  Yawn- 
ing Chasms  —  At  the  Grands  Mulcts  —  Falling  into  Crevasses — The 
Summit  Always  Retreating — Remarkable  Glaciers — The  Top  at  Last 
— The  Climber  and  the  Sensation  Exhausted, 394 

CHAPTER    LII. 

THE    BERNESE    OBERLAND    AND    VICINITT. 

On  Foot  among  the  Alps — Swiss  Cascades — Grand  Panorama  from  the 
Little  Scheideck — The  Grindelwald  Glaciers — Avalanches — How  they 
Look — Entire  Towns  Destroyed  by  Them — Disastrous  Flood — Wrest- 
ling Matches — The  City  of  Lucerne — Its  Sculptured  Lion — The  Town 
of  Zurich, 404 

CHAPTER    LIII. 

SWITZERLAND    CONTINUED. 

Freiburg — Its  Picturesque  Position — The  Town  and  Lake  of  Neuchatel — 
Basel — A  Council  of  Five  Hundred  Wrangling  Priests — The  Battle  of 
St.  Jacob — Bern,  and  its  Passion  for  Bears — The  National  Councils — 
An  Example  Worthy  of  American  Imitation — A  Famous  Clock — Va- 
riety of  the  Little  Republic — The  Common  Mode  of  Seeing  it,     -        -  412 

CHAPTER    LIV. 

GRAND    SWISS    SHOOTING   FESTIVAL. 

The  Gathering  at  Zug — All  the  Cantons  Represented — An  Enthusiastic 
Crowd — Arrangement  and  Appearance  of  the  Grounds — Energetic  Eat- 
ing and  Drinking — Practical  Democracy — The  Temple  of  Prizes — The 
Shooting  Gallery — Personal  Experiments  with  the  Swiss  Guns — An 
American  Reception  without  Americans, 419 


xx  CONTENTS. 

t 

CHAPTER    LV. 

NORTHERN    ITALY. 

PAGE. 

First  Entrance  into  the  Poetic  Land — Dreamy  Atmospheres  and  Dulcet 
Nightingales — Turin — Too  Much  Catechism  and  Too  Little  Soap  and 
Water — A  Religious  Quadruped — Vision  of  the  Stillettoes — Genoa — Its 
Unique  Character — Living  in  an  Old  Palace — Decayed  Noblemen  as 
Humble  Tradesmen — Italian  Fondness  for  Reading — Horace  Greeley 
in  Choice  Tuscan — Galley  Slaves — Ligurian  Women — Columbus'  Mon- 
ument— Peculiar  Charitable  Institution — Inducements  Offered  for  Mar- 
riage and  Pauperism, 424 

CHAPTER    LVI. 

MIDDLE    ITALY. 

Pisa — The  Leaning  Tower,  Cathedral,  and  Campo  Santo — Superabund- 
ance of  Beggars — European  Mode  of  Kissing — Piacenza — Parma — Mode- 
na — Bologna — An  Experiment  with  the  Renowned  Sausage — The  Gari- 
senda  and  Asinelli  Towers — A  Contented  and  Philosophic  Cobbler — 
The  Secret  Love  of  King  Enzio  and  Lucia  Vendagoli — The  Sad  Trag- 
edy of  Imelda  and  Bonifazio — A  New  Illustration  for  Sentimentalists,  -  434 

CHAPTER    LVII. 

LIFE   AND    TRAVEL    IN    ITALY. 

The  Climate  and  its  Discomforts — The  Italians  Much  Misrepresented — 
Continental  Politeness  and  Continental  Wines — The  Make-Believe  La- 
bors of  Servants — The  Old  Town  of  Forli— Startling  Adventure  at  the 
Opera — A  Band  of  Brigands  on  the  Stage — The  Entire  Audience  Rob- 
bed in  the  Politest  Manner — Serio-Comic  Scenes — Frightened  Men 
and  Fainting  Women — The  Released  Manager  Apologizes — Mimic  Life 
after  Real  Danger — A  Blase  Traveler  in  Search  of  Novelties,       -        -  445 

CHAPTER    LVIII. 

FLORENCE. 

The  City  During  May — Gayety  of  the  Cascine — The  Tuscan  Capital  Unde- 
serving of  its  Reputation — Italian  Dislike  to  Foreigners — Pen-Photo- 
graph of  Victor  Emanuel — The  Piazza  della  Signoria — Its  Celebrated 
Statues — Dining  under  the  Sky — Mozart  and  the  Apennines  as  Sauce 
and  Savor — The  Italian  Passion  for  Prattle — Patois  of  the  People — 
Their  Pretended  Knowledge  of  Language, 455 

CHAPTER    LIX. 

ROME. 

The  Lifeless  Nature  of  the  City — What  Roman  Catholicism  Enjoins — Re- 
vivification of  Paganism — The  Cenci  Palace  a  Tenement  House — The 
True  Story  of  Beatrice  —  Guido's  Celebrated  Picture  —  The-  Bliss  of 


CONTENTS.  xxi 

PAOB. 

Being:  Broiled  on  Gridirons  and  Fricasseed  for  Breakfast — Burial  of  a 
Saint,  and  the  Assistance  of  a  Heretic  Thereat — Imposing  Ceremony — 
Fragmentary  Marbles — Theory  Concerning  their  Lost  Members — The 
Laocoon,  Apollo  and  Venus  of  the  Capitol — Hundreds  of  Millions  Worth 
of  Churches — Exaggerated  Martyrdom  of  the  Early  Christians — The 
Pope  as  a  Man  and  a  Priest — Theological  Breadth  and  Squeamish- 
ness — The  Roman  Ballet  Girls — The  Cross  and  the  Devil  Banished 
from  the  Stage — Lucrezia  Borgia  under  a  New  Name — The  Catacombs 
— Sixty  Millions  of  Bodies  Buried  in  Them — Following  a  Monk  with  a 
Torch  to  See  Skeletons, 464 

CHAPTER    LX. 

NAPLES. 

The  Principal  Streets  and  their  Peculiarities — The  Manufacture  and  Dis- 
play of  Jewelry  —  The  Beautiful  Bay  —  Pulchinella  —  The  Favorite 
Amusement  of  the  Common  People — Manners  and  Morals  of  the  Nea- 
politans— The  Destruction  of  Stabiaa  almost  Forgotten — Castellammare 
on  the  Old  Site — Erroneous  Ideas  Concerning  the  Buried  Cities — Di- 
vine Blessings  in  Disguise — Remarkable  Concealment  of  the  Catastrophe 
for  Seventeen  Centuries — Herculaneum  and  Pompeii  Discovered  by  the 
Merest  Accident — Strange  Understanding  of  Luxury — The  Ancient 
Romans'  Mode  of  Living — Their  Pecidiar  Morals — The  Vestal  Virgins 
— Temples,  Baths,  and  Theaters — Appearance  of  the  Ruins,         -        -  478 

CHAPTER    LXI. 

CLIMBING   VESUVIUS. 

How  to  Make  the  Ascent — Annoyances  at  the  Outset — Neapolitan  Guides — 
A  Donkey  too  Courageous  to  Run — Urging  Beasts  by  the  Tail — An 
American  in  Distress — Ludicrous  Manner  of  Rendering  Assistance —  ■ 
Clambering  up  the  Mountain  in  a  Storm — Wind,  Rain,  Ashes,  and 
Scoria; — Smoking  Cinders  and  Hot  Lava  under  Foot — Roasting  Eggs 
in  Volcanic  Cinders — A  Yawning  Gull  of  Fire — Awful  Appearance  of 
the  Immense  Crater — Almost  Suffocated  by  Sulphurous  Fumes — Mag- 
nificent Panorama  from  the  Top — Rapid  and  Exciting  Descent — Re- 
treating from  a  Mob, 487 

CHAPTER    LXII. 

VENICE. 

The  Most  Romantic  City  of  the  World — Its  Notable  Places  and  Buildings 
— The  Merceria,  Piazza,  and  Piazetta — The  Rialto— The  Ducal  Palace 
— Its  Interior — Reminiscences  of  Venetian  History — Portraits  of  the 
Doges — Marino  Faliero's  Vacant  Space  Draped  in  Black — Descent  into 
the  Dungeons  with  Torches — Gloom  and  Horror  of  the  Prisons — The 
Bridge  of  Sighs — Popular  Errors  Concerning  It — Gondola-Riding  by 
Moonlight— Every  Part  of  the  Town  Accessible  On  Foot— The  Islands 
— The  Glass  Works  at  Murano — Torcello  and  Chioggia,      -        -        -  494 


xxii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    LXin. 

OUT-OF-THE-WAT    CITIES. 

FAGE, 

Rimini — Its  Past  and  Present — Poor  Francesca — Attempt  to  Prosify  her 
Melancholy  Story — Memorials  of  the  Early  Christians — Byron's  House 
and  Haunts — His  Kindness  and  Benevolence — His  Memory  Still  Revered 
— Ferrara — Its  Mediaeval  Flavor — The  Grand  Ducal  Castle — Hugo  and 
Parasina — Tasso's  Doubtful  Prison — The  Palace  of  Lucrezia  Borgia — 
A  Beautiful  Fiend  Full  of  Deadly  Surprises, 503 

CHAPTER    LXIV. 

LOMBARDY. 

Verona  as  Fancied  and  Verona  as  Found — The  Amphitheater — Tombs  of 
the  Scaligers — Vanity  Stronger  than  Death — Romeo  and  Juliet — Impo- 
sition upon  Travelers — A  Common  Horse-trough  Palmed  Off  upon  the 
Public  for  Mrs.  Montague's  Tomb — Milan— The  Peerless  Cathedral — 
Watching  a  Storm  in  the  Alps  from  its  Tower — La  Scala  Opera  House,  51 1 

CHAPTER    LXV. 

DOWN   THE   DANUBE. 

The  Danube — Rise  and  Course — Capital  of  Upper  Austria — Steamboats — 
An  Admirable  Sandwich — Noted  Persons  and  Places — Presburg — Hun- 
garian Life — Characteristics  of  the  River, 519 

CHAPTER    LXVI. 

AUSTRIA   AND   HUNGARY. 

Vienna — Dumb-Waiters — A  Superb  City — Garden  Concerts — Pesth — Hun- 
garian Fairs — The  Father  of  Roses, 525 

CHAPTER    LXVII. 

DOWN   IN   THE   WIELICZKE   SALT   MINES. 

Poland — Salt  Mines — Down  the  Shaft — Salt  Chambers — Rivers  Under- 
ground— Crystal  Salts — Getting  Out  Salt — Fairy  Scenes — Infernal 
Lake — A  Demon  Chorus — Quality  and  Quantity  of  Salt — Extent  of 
the  Mines, 533 

CHAPTER    LXVIH. 

HOLLAND. 

A  Land  of  Steady  Habits — Singular  Formation  of  the  Soil — The  Dykes — 
Struggle  of  the  Dutch  with  the  Spaniards  and  the  Sea — Decline  of  the 
Little  Kingdom — A  Beautiful  Promenade — An  Unique  Cathedral — 
A  Country  of  Canals  and  Windmills — An  All-Pervading  Air  of  Indus- 
try and  Thrift  —  A  Surprised  Angler  —  A  Piscatorial  Curiosity — The 
Native  Cottages — The  National  Domesticity — The  Garden-House — 
Its  Situation  and  Semblance — Peculiarity  of  the  Dutch  Nose,      -        -  542 


CONTENTS.  xxiii 

CHAPTER    LXIX. 

AMSTERDAM. 

PAGE. 

A  Very  Active  and  Wealthy  City — The  Venice  of  the  North — The  Princi- 
pal Streets— The  Style  of  Buildings— The  Royal  Palace— Eight-Gabled 
Inaccessible  Churches — The  Tomb  of  De  Ruyter — A  Diversified  Theol- 
ogy—Valuable Paintings — Great  Ship  Canal — The  Theaters — Diamond- 
Cutting — Ten  Thousand  Jews  Employed  in  the  Business — A  Wealthy 
Banking  Center — Hope  &  Co. — Costumes  of  the  Provinces — Grotesque 
and  Fantastic  Attire — All  the  Houses  Intoxicated — A  Bewildered  Amer- 
ican— A  Very  Narrow  Hotel — Short  Beds — The  Possible  Object  of  their 
Brevity — The  Municipal  Government, 550 

CHAPTER    LXX. 

DUTCH   CUSTOMS   AND   CHARACTERISTICS. 

Dwellers  on  the  Water — The  Trekschuit — Families  Afloat  with  Fowls,  Hoars, 
and  Cattle — Four  Hundred  Thousand  Amphibious  Hollanders — Plain 
Living  and  Steady  Money-Saving — A  Healthy,  Comfortable,  and  Con- 
tented Nation — Walloons,  Frisians,  and  Germans— Endless  Sweeping, 
Dusting,  Rubbing,  and  Scrubbing — The  Dutch  House-Wife — The  Mania 
for  External  Cleanliness — Personal  Neatness  Rather  Exceptional — Ec- 
centricities of  Tidiness — Broek  the  Cleanest  Town  on  the  Globe — Dwell- 
ings too  Nice' to  Enter  with  Shoes — Streets  that  Horses  Must  not  In- 
vade— Zaandam — The  Cottage  of  Peter  the  Great — "  Nothing  too  Small 
for  a  Great  Man," 559 

CHAPTER  LXXI. 

DIFFERENT    DUTCH    CITIES. 

Haarlem — Its  Renowned  Siege  by  the  Spaniards — A  Great  Market  for  Bulb- 
ous Roots — The  Wild  Tulip  Mania — High-Roofed  Houses  and  Peaked 
Attic  Windows — Leyden — The  Siege  of  1574 — Heroism  Rewarded — 
The  Hague — The  Scene  of  Barneveldt's  Execution — The  Prison  from 
which  the  DeWitts  were  Dragged  and  Torn  to  Pieces — Delft — The  Em- 
barkation of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers — The  Monument  to  the  Murdered  Wil- 
liam  of  Orange— The  Ashes  of  Admiral  Van  Tromp — Rotterdam — Tu- 
multuous Scenes  on  the  Exchange  —  Perpetual  Moppers  and  Mer- 
schaum-Colorers — Much  Commerce  and  More  Quaintness,    -        -        -  566 

CHAPTER    LXXn. 

BELGIUM. 

Difference  between  the  Dutch  and  the  Belgians— The  Soil  and  Resources  of 
the  Country — The  City  of  Antwerp — Singular  Manners  of  the  People 
'  — The  Crookedest  of  Towns — Not  So  Picturesque  as  Represented — Its 
'  Middle-Age  Greatness— Magnificence  of  the  Churches — Rubens'  Pic- 
tures— The  Zoological  Gardens — Travel  in  the  Kingdom — The  Musical 
Festivals  —  Extraordinary  Demonstrations — The  Belgians  as  Noise- 
Makers — Dances  in  the  Tavern  Gardens — Liege — Its  Manufactures  and 
Smoky  Atmosphere — Nineteenth  Century  Practicality,         -        -        -  572 


xsiv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    LXXIII. 

GHENT   AND   THE   GANTOIS. 

PAGE. 

Why  Americans  Should  Like  Belgium — Situation  and  Singular  Appearance 
of  Ghent — Its  Public  Squares  and  Promenades — The  Friday  Market — 
Flemish  Eccentricities — The  Ecclesiastic  Edifices — The  Renowned  Bel- 
fry— The  Beguinage — The  Matrimonial  Society  and  its  Results — Ex- 
tensive Manufactures — The  City  once  Larger  than  Paris,      -        -        -  580 

CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

BRUGES     AND    BRUSSELS. 

The  Fourteenth  Century  in  the  Nineteenth — The  Celebrated  Belfry — The 
Melody  of  its  Chimes — How  they  are  Played — Origin  of  the  Name  of 
Bruges — Its  Fine  Gothic  Structures — The  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame — 
Tomb  of  Charles  the  Bold — Curious  Chimney  Piece — A  Genuine  Mount 
of  Piety — Order  of  the  Golden  Fleece — St.  Ursula  and  her  Eleven 
Thousand  Virgins  Once  More — Deserted  Monasteries — An  Asylum  of 
English  Fugitive  Kings — Brussels,  a  Paris  in  Miniature — The  Feminine 
Passion  for  Lace — The  Scene  of  Charles  V.'s  Abdication — The  Manni- 
kin  Fountain — Superstition  Concerning  It — The  Battle  and  Field  of 
Waterloo — Annoyance  from  Guides — End  of  the  Pilgrimage,       •       -  585 


CHAPTER   I. 

ON     AND     OVER     SEA. 

i||  NE  of  the  advantages  of  travel  is  that  our  friends 
are  never  so  agreeable  as  when  we  are  going  away 
from  and  coming  back  to  them.  Absence  is  tem- 
porary death  ;  and  the  possibility  that  it  may  be 
permanent  makes  us  forget  faults  and  remember 
virtues.  The  waves  of  the  ocean  wash  away 
many  unpleasant  memories ;  and  at  the  distance 
of  a  thousand  leagues  we  see  what  has  been 
through  the  lens  of  the  ideal. 

The  steamer  "  Queen,"  of  the  National  Line,  on  which  1 
sailed  for  Europe,  proved  what  I  had  always  believed,  that  sea> 
sickness  is  not  one  of  my  possibilities.  I  had  often  been 
rocked  on  the  cradle  of  the  deep  without  the  least  discomfort ; 
but  I  had  never  crossed  the  Atlantic  during  what  is  known  ass 
the  stormy  months.  Perhaps  the  "  Queen  "  is  not  a  fair  test, 
she  is  such  an  excellent  ship,  and  seems  so  wholly  in  sympathy 
with  the  sea.  There  were  winds  and  waves  and  gales  enough 
to  make  any  one  ill  capable  of  illness ;  but  I  had  not  the  faint- 
est qualm  from  the  hour  we  quitted  the  Hudson  until  we  cast 
anchor  in  the  Mersey. 

The  "  Queen  "  is  one  of  the  largest  vessels  afloat,  and  so 
convenient  and  well  arranged,  I  do  not  wonder  she  is  a  favorite. 
All  her  sister  ships,  built  by  the  Lairds,  are  on  the  same 
model,  and  have  been  very  prosperous.  They  are  particular- 
ly adapted  to  the  carrying  of  emigrants  (I  have  always  felt  an 
interest  in  their  ocean  passage),  who,  on  account  of  the  su- 
perior accommodations,  seem  to  give  the  National  Line  the 
preference. 
2 


18 


FAIRLY  EMBARKED. 


Our  passage  was  interesting  from  its  variety.  It  was  not 
all  calm,  nor  all  storm,  but  a  fair  mixture  of  both.  The  first 
two  days  we  had  so  little  wind  that  it  was  monotonous.  But 
on  the  third  day  the  breeze  freshened,  and  on  the  fourth  rose 
to  a  gale.  It  was  exhilarating  to  be  on  deck  with  the  ship 
pitching  and  tossing  under  your  feet  \  the  waves  breaking 
over  her  once  in  a  while,  and  the  spray  dashing  into  your  face 
from  the  white-crested  surges  on  all  sides.  A  good  deal  of 
rhetoric  lias  no  doubt  been  wasted  in  describing  storms.     The 


ALL  SERENE. 


waves  are  not  mountain  high — the  highest  rarely,  if  ever,  ex- 
ceed forty  feet — nor  does  the  vast  deep  open  like  a  yawning 
chasm.  But  still  a  storm  is  very  picturesque  and  enjoyable  to 
any  one  who  retains  stomachic  regularity,  and  relishes  a  con- 
flict of  the  elements.  I  felt  a  great  satisfaction  in  standing  on 
deck,  hour  after  hour,  watching  the  boiling  waters,  the  dark, 
bending  sky,  and  hearing  the  roaring  wind,  so  fierce  at  times 
that  I  had  to  hold  to  the  railings  of  the  vessel  to  prevent  being 
blown  overboard. 

I  had  not  a  single  qualm,  nor  would  the  wildest  storm  that 


EFFECT  OF  SEA-SICKNESS.  19 

ever  raged  give  me  one,  I  am  confident.  I  have  been  thor- 
oughly tested  by  the  ocean,  and  I  have  always  refused  to  give 
up  my  resolution  or  my  breakfast. 

Many  persons  dislike  sea-voyages,  though  I  am  not  of 
them.  They  complain  of  weariness,  of  monotony;  but  the 
ocean  and  the  sky,  with  a  book  and  a  cigar,  are  companions,  if 
you  have  no  others,  though  sympathetic  society  is  not  to  be 
despised.  Travelling  alone  is  not  agreeable  when  you  travel 
far ;  and  he  who  can  take  a  friend  with  him  will  discover  his 
friend  a  blessing.  Marmontel  was  right :  "  It  is  sad  when  we 
see  any  thing  beautiful  to  have  no  one  to  whom  we  can  say, 
'  See  how  beautiful  it  is ! '  " 

Whist  is  a  pleasant  sea  game.  I  have  found  it  an  excellent 
time-killer  in  Atlantic  travels.  Tour  own  and  your  antagon- 
ist's tricks  get  confused  when  the  ship  gives  a  lurch  or  a  roll ; 
but  that  is  remediable,  and  adds  to  the  variety. 

I  relish  the  feeling  on  the  ocean,  that  when  you  leave  the 
pier,  you  won't  have  to  stop,  or  look  after  baggage  for  the  next 
ten  or  twelve  days  ;  that  you  are  secure  from  the  cctomon  an- 
noyances of  travel  for  more  than  three  thousand  miles. 

A  man  who  does  not  get  sea-sick  always  has  an  opportun- 
ity on  shipboard  to  gratify  the  element  of  original  sin — the  the- 
ologians say — we  have  in  us.  His  superiority  to  the  tortures  of 
the  ocean  makes  him  seem  superior  to  his  fellows.  The  fancy  is 
natural  enough,  considering  that  he  can  sit  quietly  down  and 
eat  his  breakfast,  while  scores  of  poor  fellows  are  lying  below 
so  disgusted  with  life  that  they  are  wholly  indifferent  whether 
the  ship  floats  or  founders.  On  the  "  Queen  "  we  had  some 
amusing  instances  of  marine  malady. 

One  young  man  was  very  eloquent  upon  the  ocean,  as  we 
were  steering  down  the  bay.  He  quoted  all  the  hackneyed 
songs  and  stanzas  of  Byron  in  praise  of  the  sea ;  wondered 
how  any  one  could  weary  of  its  beauty  and  its  grandeur.  The 
first  two  days  were  very  calm,  but  on  the  third  it  began  to 
blow.  The  enthusiast  disappeared  from  the  deck,  and  I  did 
not  meet  him  again  until  we  were  running  up  the  Channel. 
Then  he  crawled  into  the  saloon,  pale  as  a  ghost.     I  inquired 


20  SIGHTS  JiV  LIVERPOOL. 

after  his  condition,  and  as  he  had  bored  me  with  quotations 
(one  of  the  blessings  of  Eden  was  that  Eve  couldn't  quote),  I 
asked  how  he  enjoyed  the  sea.  He  steadied  himself  to  give 
energetic  energy  to  his  utterance,  and  ejaculated  sepulchrally, 
"  Oh,  the  sea !  The  people  who  are  fools  enough  to  like  it 
ought  to  be  drowned  in  it." 

A  change  had  evidently  come  over  the  spirit  of  his  dream. 

A  young  couple,  just  married,  had  chosen  Europe  for  a 
bridal  tour.  They  were  very  affectionate  and  devoted  for  a 
little  while  ;  but  the  first  strong  breeze  blew  all  love  and  sym- 
pathy out  of  them.  I  observed  them  when  the  vessel  first  be- 
gan to  roll.  They  were  leaning  fondly  against  each  other  as 
the  ship  lurched.  That  lurch  made  them  mutually  hateful. 
They  glared  on  one  another  like  deadly  foes ;  then  they 
groaned,  and  did  the  very  opposite  of  what  was  poetic.  They 
parted.  They  crept  below  by  different  stairways,  and  when 
they  rallied  enough — a  week  after — to  reappear,  they  were 
separated  physically,  if  not  spiritually.  Each  seemed  to  regard 
the  other  as  the  source  of  his  or  her  suffering.  Their  passion- 
ate attachment  was  extinguished,  at  least  for  the  time.  They 
were  changed  by  their  sea-sickness  as  years  of  land-living 
would  not  have  changed  them. 

Let  no  man  who  seeks  to  cultivate  the  sentimental  ameni- 
ties with  a  woman  take  her  to  sea.  The  ocean  is  very  fine  in 
the  abstract ;  but  in  the  concrete  it  is  as  death  to  love. 

The  first  impression  of  an  American  on  entering  England 
is  the  substantiality  of  everything.  Our  trans- Atlantic  cousins, 
as  the  London  Times  calls  us,  when  it  wants  to  be  patronizing, 
are  not  graceful  nor  artistic  nor  picturesque ;  but  they  are  solid, 
which  we  are  not.  How  strikingly  the  docks  of  Liverpool  im- 
press a  New  Yorker !  They  are  of  solid  masonry,  cost  mil- 
lions of  pounds,  and  will  last  for  ages ;  while  those  of  Manhat- 
tan are  wretched  wooden  affairs,  that  are  a  shame  to  the  city. 
The  public  buildings,  the  warehouses,  the  paving  of  the  streets, 
the  drays,  the  carts,  and  the  horses,  look  as  if  they  were,  in- 
deed, intended  to  last.  Such  long-limbed,  massive  quad- 
rupeds, such  broad- wheeled  vehicles,  we  never  see  in  our  coun- 


THE   COMPTON  MOUSE.  21 

try.  They  seem  primitive,  almost  grotesque,  compared  to  our 
slight  animals  and  wagons ;  but  they  excellently  serve  the 
purpose  for  which  they  were  designed. 

All  the  buildings  are  dingy  and  grim  from  the  moist  char- 
acter of  the  climate  and  the  quantity  of  soft  coal  they  burn ; 
but  the  principal  streets  are  quite  clean. 

One  of  the  lions  of  Liverpool  is  the  Compton  House — not 
a  hotel,  as  might  be  supposed,  but  a  variety  store  on  a  very  ex- 
tensive scale.  It  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  prominent 
buildings  in  town,  and  seems  more  Yankee  than  British.  The 
proprietors  sell  dry  goods,  millinery,  crockery,  glass  ware, 
clothing,  furniture,  hardware,  marine  outfits,  musical  instru- 
ments, and  almost  everything  but  locomotives  and  tombstones. 
If  they  have  not  the  last,  they  have  coffins,  both  ready-made 
and  made  to  order ;  so  that  anything,  from  an  infant's  robe  to 
a  wooden  overcoat,  as  they  used  to  call  it  in  the  army,  can  be 
supplied  at  the  Compton.  I  should  think  it  would  require  a 
large  degree  of  versatility  to  conduct  so  varied  a  trade,  and 
that  the  strict  attention  it  demanded  would  render  a  man 
fickle-minded.  Almost  any  American  would  predict  failure 
for  such  a  peculiar  business;  but  the  present  firm  instituted 
the  establishment,  and  have  never  been  in  any  financial  diffi- 
culty. And  that,  too,  though  they  have  been  burned  out 
once  or  twice,  which,  speaking  from  a  New  York  standpoint, 
might  account  for  their  prosperity. 

I  never  knew  until  recently  the  origin  of  the  word  Liver- 
pool. It  is  taken  from  the  word  liver,  a  fabulous  bird  of  the 
crane  species,  supposed  to  have  inhabited  the  vast  pool  which 
once  covered  the  site  of  the  present  city.  This  mythical  bird 
is  the  central  figure  in  the  coat  of  arms  of  Liverpool.  All  the 
ground  on  which  the  town  stands  is  made,  and  over  it,  in  years 
agone,  flowed  the  sea. 

Except  in  business,  Liverpool  is  a  dull  place.  Commerce 
crowds  out  science,  literature,  and. art,  which  London  monop- 
olizes. With  a  population  of  over  five  hundred  thousand, 
Liverpool  has  not  a  library,  a  gallery,  or  a  theatre  worthy  of 
the  name.     Every  dramatic  manager  fails  eventually. 


22 


QUICK  SHAVING. 


The  city  lias  few  handsome  private  residences,  as  most  of 
the  prosperous  citizens  live  out  of  town.  Great  fortunes  have 
been  amassed  there,  some  of  the  merchant  princes  being  worth 
$10,000,000  to  $12,000,000  each.  Fortunes,  varying  from 
$1,000,000  to  $3,000,000  are  quite  common.  Business  is  reg- 
ulated very  much  as  in  New  York  ;  a  business  day  embracing 
but  four  or  five  hours.  You  can  find  no  one  before  ten  o'clock, 
and  seldom  after  four.  About  the  latter  hour  the  merchants 
go  to  their  homes,  which  lie  along  the  different  railways.  The 
grounds  of  many  of  the  houses  are  beautifully  laid  out,  though 
they  suffer,  as  English  grounds  usually  do,  from  over-regularity 
and  stiffness. 

Shaving  is  still  quite  primitive  in  England,  for  the  reason 
that  most  Englishmen  are  in  the  habit  of  shaving  themselves. 


SHAVED   IN   TWO  MINUTES. 


In  some  of  the  towns  the  barbers  charge  only  a  penny,  but 
they  merely  rasp  the  chin,  and  then  release  their  victim ;  not 

I  was  directed  to  a  tonsorial 


even  washing  off  the  lather. 


CUSTOM-HOUSE   OFFICERS.  23 

artist  who  solicited  American  patronage,  and  who  enjoyed  a 
reputation.  I  found  his  shop  exceedingly  plain,  with  few  con- 
veniences and  no  luxuries.  The  chairs  were  common  chairs, 
with  a  small  head-piece.  I  sat  down,  and  the  razor  was  jerked 
across  my  face,  being  wiped  at  every  jerk.  There  was  none 
of  the  careful  or  artistic  manipulation  for  which  our  barbers 
are  famed.  The  job  was  finished  in  two  minutes;  but  I  re- 
membered it  two  months. 

It  is  often  remarked  by  travellers  that  the  Custom-house 
officers  in  Europe  form  a  marked  contrast  to  those  in  America. 
The  officers  on  this  side  are  much  more  expeditious  and 
obliging  than  ours.  They  show  no  such  disposition  to  detain 
or  annoy  you.  If  they  have  no  reason  to  suspect  contraband 
goods,  they  pass  baggage  without  inspecting  it  or  pulling  it  to 
pieces.  They  are  mortal,  of  course.  The  British  officials  like 
to  have  their  palms  crossed  with  silver,  and  if  you  fail  to  re- 
member their  weakness,  inform  you  of  it  by  word  of  mouth. 
"  Price  of  a  pot  of  beer,  sir,"  they  say,  and  hold  out  their  hand 
to  facilitate  the  exchange  of  small  coins.  Several  Englishmen 
have  assured  me  no  Custom-house  officer  in  Great  Britain  can 
be  bribed ;  but  he  certainly  likes  to  see  the  courtesies  of  the 
occasion  properly  observed. 


CHAPTER  II. 


LONDON. 


STRANGER,  or  foreigner,  going  to  England 
now  is  likely  to  infer  that  the  principal  branch 
of  retail  trade  is  in  matches.  The  streets  of 
London  are  full  of  match-venders,  mostly  children 
from  six  to  twelve  years  of  age.  They  offer  you 
matches  everywhere,  and  with  a  perseverance  and 
energy  that  encourage  the  belief  that  their  salva- 
tion depends  upon  their  selling  a  certain  number. 
You  are  forced  to  doubt  if  the  matches  they  offer  so  super- 
abundantly are  made  in  heaven.  You  question  if  enough 
people  have  gone  there  to  make  so  many.  The  cause  of  the 
activity  in  the  match  market  is  that  it  is  an  excuse  for  beggary. 
The  English  cities,  especially  London,  became  so  overrun  with 
professional  mendicants  that  an  effort  was  made  to  suppress 
them.  The  police  received  orders  to  arrest  all  beggars.  Of 
course,  the  beggars  found  a  subterfuge.  They  embraced  a 
legitimate  business — selling  matches.  They  invest  a  penny  in 
matches,  rim  after  you,  and  beg  most  piteously.  They  seem 
so  forlorn,  and  are  so  pertinacious  that  strangers  give  them 
money  either  out  of  pity  or  for  convenience.  Americans  are 
of  course  the  first  choice  of  beggars,  for  most  Europeans  be- 
lieve we  are  all  rich,  and  anxious  to  get  rid  of  our  money  as 
soon  as  possible.  A  wretched-looking  girl,  of  eight  or  nine, 
came  up  to  me,  holding  out  a  box  of  matches,  making  her  ap- 
peal so  adroitly  that  I  gave  her  sixpence  for  her  art. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said  ;  "  thank  you,  Mr.  American. 
How  do  you  know  I  am  an  American,  my  child  ? 


?) 


a 


J5 


it  TIPPING  "    UNIVERSAL. 


25 


"  Oh,  because  you  gives  me  silver ;  our  people  never  gives 
us  nothink  but  pennies." 

The  extent  of  "  tipping,"  as  it  is  styled,  is  remarkable  in 
Britain.  We  should  call  it  "  feeing,"  and  more  candid  per- 
sons would  name  it  "  bribing."  We  are  in  the  habit  of  pay- 
ing porters,  servants,  and  all  kinds  of  menials  for  any  particu- 
lar attention  or  service  rendered;  but  we  are  very  careful 
about  giving  money  to  those  we  regard  or  who  regard  them- 
selves as  our  social  equals.  The  line  is  closely  drawn  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  we  never  cross  it  with  douceurs. 
Over  there  it  is  quite  different.  You  hardly  meet  any  one 
you  cannot  make  happy  with  anything  between  a  shilling  and 
a  sovereign.     Even 


sovereign. 


pennies  are  not  re- 
fused by  well- 
dressed  men,  or  six- 
pences by  well- 
dressed  women.  The 
smallest  courtesy  or 
the  largest  kindness 
is  gladly  rendered 
you  under  the  im- 
pression that  you 
will  pay  for  it.  You 
drop  your  cane :  it 
is  picked  up  at  once, 
and  you  part  with  a 
penny.  A  stamp  is 
put  on  your  letter; 
a  glass  of  water  is 
handed  you ;  the 
morning  paper  is 
shoved  toward  you,  and  you  pay  for  the  convenience.  A 
woman  buttons  your  glove,  or  takes  a  hair  from  your  coat 
(even  if  it  be  her  own),  and  you  make  pecuniary  compensation 
therefor. 

In  America  we  do  many  things  -gratis.     In  England,  or  in 


TIPPING. 


26 


COST  OF  LIVING   IN  ENGLAND. 


Europe,  for  matter  of  that,  they  do  nothing  on  such  terms. 
Little  gratuities  in  London  will  cost  a  stranger  from  two  to  ten 
shillings  a  day ;  and  if  he  wants  any  real  favors,  he  must  draw 
on  his  sovereigns. 

I  have  been  embarrassed  sometimes  concerning  the  extent 
to  which,  and  concerning  the  kind  of  people,  one  may  "  tip." 
But  I  have  learned  that  in  most  cases  hesitation  is  superfluous. 
A  New  Yorker,  as  the  story  goes,  boarded  in  the  house  of 
a  friend,  in  London,  for  some  months.  When  about  to  leave 
for  the  Continent,  and  bid  adieu  to  his  friend's  wife,  she  kissed 
him  good-by.  The  New  Yorker,  not  anticipating  so  warm  a 
greeting,  and  deeming  it  a  special  favor — for  the  woman  was 

pretty — slipped  a  sovereign  in- 
to her  hand,  and  went  off. 

"We  hear  a  great  deal  about 
the  cheapness  of  living  in  Eu- 
rope ;  but  it  is  not  true  for 
travellers  in  Great  Britain. 
The  hotels  in  London  are  quite 
as  expensive  as  in  America, 
considering  the  accommoda- 
tions. The  English  houses  are 
generally  inferior  to  ours,  in 
size  and  comfort,  and  in  the 
quality  of  the  table.  What  a 
New  York,  or  Boston,  or  Chi- 
cago hotel  furnishes,  would  cost  in  London  fully  ten  dollars  a 
day.  As  it  is,  you  cannot  live  in  what  is  considered  there  a 
first-class  hotel  for  less  than  five  dollars  in  currency,  and  if  you 
are  fastidious  or  dainty,  it  will  be  much  more.  You  cannot 
get  the  plainest  breakfast  for  less  than  three  shillings,  and  a 
tolerable  dinner  will  be  five  or  six  shillings.  Then  you  have 
service  charged  in  the  bill  at  one  to  two  shillings  a  day,  and 
are  expected  to  pay  the  servants  besides. 

The  Europeans  live  much  more  economically  than  we  do. 
They  care  vastly  more  about  money,  in  the  first  place,  and 
secondly,  they  better  understand  its  judicious  use.     All  manu- 


GOOD  FOR  A  SOVEREIGN. 


THE  "BOBBIES."  27 

factured  articles  are  cheaper  in  Britain  and  on  the  Continent ; 
are  well  made,  and  of  good  material.  The  expense  of  boots, 
clothes,  and  hats,  for  instance,  is  not  much,  more  than  fifty  or 
sixty  per  cent,  of  what  it  is  in  the  United  States.  The  average 
Englishman  wears  a  coat  or  hat  for  several  years,  while  we 
think  a  few  months  quite  sufficient. 

The  policemen  look  awkward  enough  in  their  peculiar  uni- 
form, which  is  a  short,  stiff,  square-cut,  blue  coat,  that  would 
give  an  unprepossessing  appearance  to  Antinous.  On  their 
heads  they  wear  a  cloth  helmet,  with  a  small  crest,  intended 
to  break  the  blow  of  any  club  or  missile.  This  gives  them  a 
ridiculous  appearance,  and  with  their  other  garments,  insures 
them  the  name  of  "  bobbies."  How  the  government  can  ex- 
pect the  majesty  of  the  law  to  be  sustained  by  the  "  bobbies  " 
I  can't  understand.  They  are  too  funny  to  command  respect. 
I  should  as  soon  expect  to  disperse  a  mob  by  reading  a  hu- 
morous lecture  instead  of  the  Riot  Act. 

The  speed  of  the  English  train  is  exaggerated.  They  go 
much  faster  than  ours ;  but  even  the  express  rarely  averages 
more  than  forty  miles  an  hour.  "When  behind  time,  it  runs 
as  high  as  fifty  or  sixty,  but  only  for  short  distances.  The  fare 
is  about  five  cents  a  mile  for  first-class,  four  cents  for  second- 
class,  and  less  than  three  cents  for  third-class,  while  with  us 
it  averages  about  three  cents  per  mile.  The  rate  varies  little 
whether  the  distance  be  short  or  long,  and  the  advantage  of 
buying  through  tickets  at  reduced  prices,  as  with  us,  is  not  to 
be  had. 

An  American  is  struck  with  the  superior  construction  of 
the  railways.  They  all  have  double  tracks,  and  their  bridges, 
tunnels,  embankments,  and  elevations  are  of  the  most  substan- 
tial sort.  No  common  road  is  allowed  to  cross  the  track,  ex- 
cept over  a  bridge  or  by  a  tunnel.  The  telegraph  lines  and 
signal  stations  are  excellent,  and  kept  in  perfect  order.  Seri- 
ous accidents  seldom  occur,  and  only  from  gross  carelessness. 

The  theatres  in  London  are,  on  the  whole,  inferior  to  the 
theatres  of  New  York,  both  in  the  quality  of  the  houses  (ex- 
ternally and  internally,)  and  of  the  performance.     The  Covent 


28 


THEATRES  IN  LONDON. 


Garden  is  a  large,  gloomy  building,  not  at  all  attractive  within, 
and  the  Italian  operas  are  not  given  in  the  style  that  might  be 
naturally  expected ;  nor  are  they  mounted  as  they  ought,  in 
what  the  English  claim  to  be  the  first  of  the  European  lyric 
theatres. 


THIRD-CLASS  RAILWAY  CARRIA<5e. 

Drury  Lane  (recently  rearranged  and  improved),  the  Prince 
of  "Wales's  (the  Wallack's  of  London),  Haymarket,  and  Gayety 
Theatres  are  the  best  in  the  metropolis.  The  Adelphi,  Strand, 
Holborn,  Lyceum,  and  minor  theatres,  have  little  to  boast  of, 
iind  some  of  them  are  dingy  and  dreary  enough. 

A  theatre  of  the  old  time,  and  one  rarely  visited  now* 
days  by  strangers,  is  Sadler's  Wells,  in  a  quarter  of  the  town 
where  no  one  would  imagine  a  place  of  amusement  to  be. 
Having  attended  all  the  fashionable  play-houses,  I  fancied  an 
excursion  to  Sadler's  Wells  might  be  entertaining.     Phelps, 


AN  UNWELCOME  SUBSTITUTE.  29 

"  the  eminent  tragedian,"  was  performing  a  round  of  favorite 
characters,  and  his  Richelieu  was  so  bad  I  felt  a  strong  curios- 
ity to  see  if  he  could  do  anything  worse.  I  attended  a  second 
time,  when  the  manager,  with  soiled  hands  and  limping  Eng- 
lish, appeared  before  the  curtain  to  state  that  Phelps  was  too 
hoarse  to  play,  and  that  his  son  would  take  his  part.  It  re- 
quired fully  ten  minutes  to  communicate  so  much  as  that,  for 
the  audience  cheered,  hooted,  and  yelled  so  as  to  drown  the 
fellow's  voice  at  every  half  sentence. 

The  curtain  rose,  and  young  Phelps  strode  upon  the  stage 
as  Bertuccio  in  the  "  Fool's  Revenge."  But  he  could  not 
make  himself  heard.  The  uproar  continued  for  fifteen  min- 
utes. At  last  he  succeeded  in  informing  the  house  that  he 
would  not  attempt  the  character  if  they  did  not  wish  it.  Cries 
of  "  Go  on,  go  on,"  and  "  Go  off,  go  off,"  with  applause,  hisses, 
and  confusion  worse  confounded.  The  actor  could  not  again 
lift  his  voice  above  the  din,  and  finally  quitted  the  stage  in 
despair. 

Then  the  manager  reappeared  and  began  a  series  of  em- 
phatic gestures,  putting  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  swinging 
his  arms  in  a  manner  that  indicated  he  was  making  a  speech. 
It  was  all  dumb  show  amid  the  tumult.  I  grew  weary  of  the 
place,  and  concluding  I  had  had  my  three  shillings'  worth  of 
legitimate  drama,  quitted  the  theatre.  What  became  of  the 
manager  or  the  audience,  I  do  not  know. 

As  I  went  out  of  the  dingy  old  building,  with  its  crooked 
entrances,  its  queer  arcade,  its  seedy  ticket-sellers,  and  heard 
women  in  draggled  skirts  swearing  over  their  disappointment, 
and  saw  tipsy  rogues  standing  in  the  rain  (it  always  rains  in 
London)  waiting  to  rob  somebody  tipsier  than  they,  I  thought 
how  thoroughly  Sadler's  Wells  represented  the  theatre  of  the 
past,  and  that  quarter  of  the  city  the  London  of  the  present. 

Phelps  certainly  represents  the  past.  Twenty-five  years 
ago  he  was  thought  one  of  the  best  of  living  tragedians,  for  he 
had  a  powerful  voice,  and  could  rant  like  King  Cambyses.  He 
stood  at  the  head  of  his  profession ;  but  the  natural  school  of 
acting  came  in,  and  left  his  strut-and-thunder  style  out  of  fash- 


30 


LOXDOX  CABMEN. 


ion.  He  could  not  change  ;  lie  did  not  wish  to.  He  declared 
the  times  unjointed,  and  the  generation  unappreciative.  He 
grew  morbid  and  bitter  ;  he  could  not  get  engagements  where 
once  he  would  have  refused  to  play.  When  I  last  saw  him  he 
was  obliged  to  seek  the  provinces.  Poor,  old,  broken,  misan- 
thropic, he  was  filling  at  the  Wells  his  final  engagement  in  the 
metropolis. 

There   are  two  kinds  of  cabs  in  England,  the   Hansom, 
a  two-wheeled  vehicle,  and  a  four-wheeler,  built  like  an  Amer- 


HANSOM  "   CAB. 


ican  coupe  or  brougham.  English  cabmen  are  like  their  tribe 
the  world  over.  They  will  cheat  you  if  they  can.  They  are 
not  so  bad  as  the  Celtic  Jehus  in  New  York — they  could  not 
be  if  they  tried — but  they  overcharge  whenever  they  think 
they  can  with  safety.  Their  regular  fare  is  sixpence  per  mile 
for  a  Hansom,  and  one  shilling  for  a  four-wheeler ;  but  they 
always  ask  a  stranger  twice  as  much,  presuming  he  won't 


THE   GREAT  CITY.  31 

know  the  distance  he  has  been  driven.  When  he  hands  them 
the  proper  amount,  however,  and  lets  them  see  he  understands 
the  situation,  they  accept  the  fare  with  a  tolerable  degree  of 
resignation.  They  do  not  swear  and  insult,  and  threaten  him 
as  they  do  in  our  blessed  land  of  freedom,  until  nothing  but 
self-discipline  and  the  high  price  of  funerals  prevent  him  from 
indulging  in  the  luxury  of  a  justifiable  homicide. 

To  one  not  a  native  of  London,  the  famous  labyrinth  of 
Crete  seems  to  have  been  recreated  along  the  Thames.  Such  a 
wilderness  of  streets,  lanes,  inns,  courts,  and  alleys,  was  never 
before  known  in  Christendom.  There  is  no  clue  to  any  given 
locality.  You  must  depend  entirely  on  your  instincts  or  a  cab- 
man ;  and  the  latter,  on  the  whole,  is  to  be  preferred. 

A  street  has  one  name  in  one  block,  another  in  a  second, 
and  still  another  in  a  third.  On  the  west  side  of  a  thorough- 
fare the  street  is  King ;  on  the  east,  Queen ;  on  the  north, 
Bread ;  on  the  south,  Milk ;  on  the  right,  Black  ;  on  the  left, 
White;  and  so  on  without  end. 

There  is  some  mental  connection  between  such  nomenclat- 
ure, but  in  most  of  that  prevailing  there,  there  is  no  suggestion 
of  fitness  or  coherence.  A  triangle  is  called  a  square,  a  square 
is  called  fields,  a  rambling  block  a  circus,  a  dark  corner  an  inn, 
and  a  blind  alley  a  crescent. 

To  show  the  irregularity  of  London,  let  me  take  one  of 
the  best-known  routes  between  down-town  and  the  western 
quarter.  Beginning  at  the  Bank  of  England  with  Threadnee- 
dle  street,  where  there  is  a  chaos  of  thoroughfares,  and  going 
toward  Trafalgar  square  as  directly  as  you  can,  you  pass 
through  Poultry,  Cheapside,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  Ludgate 
Hill,  Fleet  street,  Temple  Bar,  the  Strand,  and  Charing  Cross, 
and  yet  you  have  nothing  to  inform  you  where  you  are.  Few 
of  the  streets  are  indicated  by  their  names.  Those  which  are, 
are  so  insignificant  that  no  one  cares  to  know  them.  The 
lamp-posts  have  no  directions  whatever ;  so,  after  dark,  you  are 
wholly  at  a  loss. 

The  Directory,  though  an  immense  volume,  is  so  like  a 
Chinese  puzzle  that  it  rather  conceals  than  conveys  intelligence. 


32  A  NEW   YORKER  PUZZLED. 

The  location  of  a  house  or  the  address  of  a  business  firm  is 
given  simply  as  Oxford  street,  Bloomsbury,  White  Friars,  or 
Co  vent  Garden,  with  a  number  of  such  cabalistic  initials  as  W. 
C,  E.  C,  W.  or  C,  which  are  simply  confounding  to  the 
stranger.  The  letters  mean  "West  Central,  East  Central,  West 
or  Central,  as  respects  the  quarter  of  London.  In  the  Direc- 
tory you  constantly  find  "  City"  in  parentheses,  and  marvel  at 
it  until  you  learn  that  it  means  the  part  of  town  east  of  Tem- 
ple Bar,  though  London  extends  miles  and  miles  west  of  the 
Bar. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  a  century  ago  the  Mayor  of  Lon- 
don, in  one  of  those  spasms  of  ferocious  morality  to  which  the 
British  public  is  periodically  subject,  complained  of  the  wick- 
edness of  theatres,  and  demanded  they  should  be  suppressed  in 
the  city.  They  were  suppressed,  and  since  then,  though  the 
feeling  and  restriction  have  passed,  no  theatre  has  been  built 
in  the  so-called  city  limits. 

The  tangle  of  dingy  alleys  in  which  the  Times  office  stands 
is  a  good  illustration  of  the  topography  of  London.  I  defy 
any  one  to  stumble  on  it  in  fifty  years,  unless  he  makes  a  direct 
and  persistent  effort  in  its  quest.  Fleet  street  is  the  street  for 
daily  newspapers ;  and  you  read  on  flaring  signs  the  names  of 
all  the  prominent  journals  in  front  of  the  offices  as  you  pass, 
the  name  of  the  Thunderer  excepted.  You  wonder  where  it 
is,  and  you  might  wonder  until  doomsday  if  you  were  not  in- 
structed to  look  out  for  Pilgrim  street — a  narrow  alley — down 
which  you  thread  your  way  into  Broadway,  E.  C.  (a  miserable 
lane,  that  makes  a  New  Torker  indignant  to  look  at),  and 
finally  chase  into  a  corner,  a  dwarfish-looking,  begrimed  build- 
ing, on  which  are  the  letters,  "  The  Times  Publishing  Office." 

It  is  difficult  to  avoid  disappointment  in  St.  Paul's  Cathe- 
dral. It  is  vast  and  gloomy  enough,  and  has  been  sufficiently 
expensive  ;  but  architecturally  it  is  unsatisfactory.  The  dome 
is  admirable,  but  its  sculptures  and  ornamentations  are  inferior. 
It  is  a  great  pile  of  monetary  wastefulness,  but  very  interest- 
ing from  its  historic  associations.  Interiorly  it  is  worse  than 
outwardly.     It  is  unfinished,  like  the  Continental  cathedrals, 


ST.    PAUL'S   CATHEDRAL. 


33 


and,  like  them,  invites  in  permanent  placards  the  public  to 
contribute  to  its  completion.  Service  is  held  in  the  eastern 
end,  and  the  remaining  part  of  the  interior  is  emptiness.  But 
the  whole  is  so  cold  and  dreary,  even  ghostly  in  appearance, 
that  I  should  think  every  religious  emotion  and  aspiration 


ST.  PAUL'S  CATHEDRAL. 


would  be  extinguished  therein.  In  the  church  during  service 
I  seemed  to  have  walked  into  a  living  tomb.  The  faith  must 
be  earnest  and  the  soul  aflame  that  can  worship  in  such  a 
freezing  temple. 

To  ascend  to  the  dome  and  climb  into  the  ball,  four  hun- 
dred feet  high,  is  quite  the  proper  thing.  The  way  is  long, 
tedious,  and  very  dirty ;  but  if  you  are  strong  of  limb  and 
careless  of  soil,  you  will  find  the  three  or  four  shillings  invested 
in  the  enterprise  repaid,  should  the  day  prove  clear,  by  an  ex- 
cellent view  of  London  and  all  the  surrounding  country,  with 
the  enjoyment  of  a  wind  that  threatens  to  blow  off  your  hair. 
3 


34  COFFEE-BOOMS. 

The  coffee-room  is  one  of  the  marked  features  of  every 
British  hotel,  and  is  mentioned  in  glowing  terms  by  all  the 
English  as  a  synonym  of  sociability  and  comfort.  My  expe- 
rience has  not  led  me  to  form  a  very  favorable  opinion  of  the 
coffee-room ;  called  so,  perhaps,  because  coffee  is  almost  the 
only  thing  not  drank  in  it. 

The  coffee-room  is  generally  a  large  room  in  the  hotel 
where  visitors  sit,  talk,  read  the  papers,  and  (particularly) 
drink.  The  talking  is  usually  slow,  but  the  drinking  is  very 
fast,  and  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  sole  object  of  the  convo- 
cation. 

One  certainly  hears  there  conversation  as  fully  divested  of 
intellectuality  as  any  he  has  ever  listened  to  among  men  claim- 
ing to  be  intelligent.  The  English,  as  a  people,  rarely  deal 
with  ideas.  They  delight  in  facts,  and  prosaic  facts,  too. 
When  they  fail  to  talk  of  business,  which  they  do  five  times  as 
much  as  I  have  ever  known  Americans  to  do,  they  speak  of 
how  much  it  cost  them  to  make  the  journey  to  the  city  ;  tell 
what  they  have  had  for  dinner,  and  intend  to  have  for  break- 
fast ;  or  discuss,  with  their  peculiar  intonation,  some  question 
we  should  deem  unworthy  of  a  thought. 

I  could  not  help  comparing  the  English  with  the  American 
style  of  conversation,  and  greatly  to  the  disadvantage  of  the 
former.  We,  as  a  people,  have  much  more  humor,  wit,  fancy, 
readiness,  and  fluency  than  they. 

In  spite  of  the  efforts  to  suppress  professional  mendicancy 
in  London,  there  is  a  superabundance  of  beggars,  especially  in 
the  West  End,  where  the  wealthy  residents  live.  Ladies  are 
often  deterred  from  walking  out  there  on  account  of  the  hordes 
that  beset  them.  They  are  afraid  to  refuse  the  petitions,  and 
also  afraid  to  put  their  hands  into  their  purses,  lest  they  be  in- 
sulted in  the  first  case,  and  robbed  in  the  second. 

Wretched-looking  women  with  babies  in  their  arms  haunt 
the  popular  quarters,  and  offer  faded  bouquets  and  other 
worthless  wares  as  a  pretext  for  soliciting  charity.  They  are 
liable  to  arrest  for  begging,  and,  though  seldom  arrested,  they 
like  to  make  a   show  of  selling  something.     Nearly  all  the 


ENGLISH  GEOGGEEIES. 


35 


beggars  care  natives — unlike  ours,  who  are  all  foreigners.  The 
people  there,  however,  have  more  reason  to  beg — for  they  are 
poor  enough — but  nearly  all  of  them  are  imposters  and  pro- 
fessionals. 

Billingsgate,  down  by  the  Tower  way,  is  not  very  unlike 
what  it  was  in  Dr.  Johnson's  time.  The  fishmongers,  male 
and  female,  keep  up  a  hid- 
eous bawling,  and  the  lat- 
ter make  more  noise  than 
the  former.  Their  chaffing 
is  so  energetic  that  I  have 
listened  by  the  half  hour 
to  their  peculiar  raillery. 
Those  fish-wives  have  noth- 
ing feminine  in  their  ap- 
pearance, manner,  or  con-  ^J 
versation  ;  but  I  hear  they 
often  do  kind  and  womanly 
acts.  I  hope  they  do ;  for 
while  I  watched  and  lis- 
tened to  them,  they  seemed 
of  the  epicene  gender,  without  the  virtues  of  either  men  or 
women,  and  the  faults  of  both.  It  is  very  unsafe  to  speak  to 
them  in  jest ;  for  they  have  a  stream  of  foul  words  they  are 
only  too  glad  to  turn  upon  any  one,  be  he  prince,  peddler,  or 
poet. 

On  every  street,  in  every  block,  you  see  the  bar-room, 
which  varies  from  the  low  doggery  in  the  dark  court  to  the 
gilded  gin  palace  at  the  crowded  corner.  The  number  of 
houses  where  malt  and  spirituous  liquors  are  sold  is  over  eight 
thousand,  about  one  for  every  five  hundred  inhabitants.  No 
doubt  the  English  drink  more  than  any  nation  in  the  world. 
They  are  reared  to  beer,  wine,  and  liquor,  and  they  do  no  in- 
justice to  their  trainings.  Liberal  potations  injure  man  less 
in  this  climate  than  they  do  elsewhere ;  indeed,  some  physi- 
cians hold  that  strict  temperance  is  unwholesome,  though  such 
medical  opinions  may  be  influenced  by  personal  habits. 


STREET  BEGGAR. 


36 


FLEET  STREET. 


Women  drink  as  well  as  men.  You  see  women  standing 
among  men  in  the  gin  shops,  both  by  day  and  by  night,  and 
they  are  constantly  going  in  and  out  with  bottles,  and  pitchers, 
and  jugs,  seeking  or  carrying  away  the  fiery  poison.  A  very 
common  spectacle  is  that  of  women  staggering  through  the 


A  FLEET  STREET  GROGGERY. 


streets,  blaspheming  and  screaming  like  any  masculine  row- 
dies. It  frequently  happens,  I  understand,  that  as  many  as 
fifty  or  a  hundred  are  arrested  a  day  for  bestial  drunkenness. 

The  grog  shops  have  different  entrances,  marked  private 
and  general.     Into  the  former  go  the  better  and  more  prosper- 


FEARED   TO   THE  BOTTLE.  3 


h 


oris  tipplers ;  into  the  latter,  the  poorer  and  more  depraved. 
They  both  travel  the  same  road,  but  by  different  gates.  Some 
of  the  rum-holes  have  three  doors  to  perdition.  The  best 
liquor  is  sold  at  the  first  door,  the  medium  at  the  second,  and 
the  common  sweepings,  and  rinsings,  and  slops  at  the  third. 
Women  and  children,  not  over  nine  and  ten  years  of  age,  are 
often  patrons  of  the  third-class.  I  can  think  of  few  sadder 
sights  than  Fleet  street  and  the  Strand,  hourly,  yea,  moment- 
arily, witness  of  that  kind. 

Wherever  I  have  been  in  England  I  have  been  pained  by 
the  prevalence  of  intemperance  ;  intemperance  in  its  most  re- 
pulsive form  ;  intemperance  among  young  and  old ;  intemper- 
ance among  laborers  and  mechanics  whose  scanty  wages  make 
improvidence  a  crime  ;  intemperance — worst  of  all — among 
women. 

Our  drinking  places  are  holy  chapels  compared  to  the  pub- 
lic-houses there,  which  resemble  pens  for  swine  more  than  re- 
sorts for  human  beings.  They  are  often  tawdrily  painted  and 
gilded ;  but  the  counters  are  small  and  narrow,  and  the  en- 
trances only  large  enough  to  admit  three  or  four  drinkers  at  a 
time.  Ordinary  customers  are  brutally  served — treated  like 
the  degraded  beings  they  are  by  persons  far  worse  than  them- 
selves. 

Persons  rarely  get  roaring  drunk  as  with  us,  but  that  is 
because  they  have  more  phlegm  and  stolidity  than  we,  not  be- 
cause they  do  not  drink  enough.  Their  naturally  sound  con- 
stitutions and  sluggish  temperament  prove  their  bane,  since 
they  are  prevented  from  seeing  their  danger  or  feeling  their 
excess.  They  do  not  very  often  die  of  delirium  tremens,  but 
they  get  so  thoroughly  soaked  with  liquors  that  it  enters  into 
all  their  functions,  and  gives  rise  to  countless  diseases. 

The  boasted  health  and  ruddiness  of  the  English  is  more  in 
appearance  than  in  fact.  There  are  countless  invalids  among 
them,  as  you  see  by  travelling  on  the  Continent,  particularly  at 
the  spas ;  and  they  often  become  infirm  through  overfondness 
for  drink.  In  our  country  tippling  is  followed  by  few  ;  but  in 
Britain,  as  I  have  said,  everybody  takes  his  bottle  of  sherry  or 


38  "  TTKTVEESALITY  OF  DISSIPATIOHr." 

port,  and  generally  his  whisky,  gin,  or  brandy,  as  regularly  as 
he  takes  his  dinner.  The  English  are  reared  to  the  bottle,  if 
not  on  it.  The  sole  difference  between  the  poor  and  the  rich 
man  is,  the  former  swallows  worse  liquor  than  the  latter,  and 
finds  a  graveyard  sooner.  Looking  at  Cruikshank's  picture, 
representing  the  "Universality  of  Dissipation,"  at  the  Kensing- 
ton Museum,  it  seemed  to  me  truer  now  than  ever. 

The  picture  represents  how  all  classes  of  society  are  affected 
by  strong  drink ;  how  the  man  of  fashion  and  position  falls  in 
time  into  the  same  degradation  with  the  ignorant  boor  and  the 
common  sot.  The  modish  and  elegant  wine-bibbing  at  dinners 
and  parties  is  shown  to  be  the  beginning  of  many  a  noble 
nature's  ruin.  Every  grade  of  intemperance,  from  the  highest 
to  the  lowest,  is  traced  downward,  slowly  but  steadily  and 
surely.  The  lady  of  rank  is  drawn  sipping  her  cordial  daintily ; 
the  ambitious  politician  entertaining  his  constituents  with 
claret ;  the  proud  peer  extending  graceful  hospitality ;  the 
merchant  taking  his  glass  of  punch  after  dinner;  the  lover 
draining  a  glass  of  champagne  to  his  mistress'  beauty ;  the 
clerk  swallowing  his  single  pot  of  beer ;  the  unfortunate  me- 
chanic pausing  on  his  homeward  way  for  a  trifle  of  gin ;  the 
miserable  wretch  thrust  into  the  street  because  he  is  too  poor 
to  buy  decent  treatment ;  the  man  who  was  once  in  the  pulpit, 
loved  and  lauded,  converted  into  an  outcast  and  a  thief  by  his 
thirst  for  liquor ;  the  father  of  an  affectionate  family  brought 
to  the  prison  and  the  gallows  by  the  demon  of  drink.  And 
so,  on  and  on,  and  on — down,  down,  down  from  the  first  flush 
of  pleasure  and  excitement  to  the  lowest  pit  of  woe  and 
despair. 


CHAPTEE  III. 


SPURGEON. 


ROFITING  by  a  leisure  Sunday  in  London,  I 
went  to  the  Tabernacle  to  hear  Spurgeon,  whose 
reputation  is  increasing  steadily  and  whose  in- 
fluence is  greater  to-day  than  ever.  The  Taber- 
nacle is  on  the  north  side  of  the  Thames,  near  the 
famous  "  Elephant  and  Castle,"  about  a  mile  dis- 
tant from  St.  Paul's,  in  a  densely  crowded  and  en- 
tirely democratic  portion  of  the  city.  The  church 
(Baptist)  is  very  large,  and  has  two  galleries  with  six  rows  of 
seats  extending  in  the  form  of  an  ellipse  all  around  the  house, 
giving  it  much  the  appearance  of  a  theatre.  It  will  seat  six 
or  seven  thousand  persons,  and  would  be  filled,  if  its  capacity 
were  twice  as  great. 

It  is  the  custom  to  admit  all  the  pew-owners,  friends  of 
members,  and  those  who  have  purchased  tickets  of  admission 
(they  are  sold  for  a  shilling,  and  regularly  advertised  in  the 
Times)  before  the  hour  of  service.  The  favored  ones  are  in- 
troduced by  side-entrances,  and  the  great  public  kept  out  until 
the  first  hymn  is  read,  which  is  at  eleven  o'clock. 

I  took  a  cab  and  rode  over  to  the  Tabernacle  at  about  half- 
past  ten.  Then  the  steps  were  so  crowded  I  could  not  get 
within  forty  feet  of  the  front  door.  As  it  was  too  late  to  pur- 
chase tickets  (they  are  purchased  of  the  trustees,  I  have  under- 
stood), I  was  obliged  to  practise  the  Christian  virtue,  patience, 
and  wait  until  the  sexton  saw  fit  to  open  the  doors  for  the 
multitude,  of  whom  I  was  on  that  occasion  one. 

Precisely  at  eleven  the  crowd  moved  inward,  and  I  with 


40 


spuegeon's  tabeenacle. 


it.  I  was  in  the  first  gallery  in  less  than  two  minutes,  and 
almost  every  place  was  occupied,  from  the  pews  on  the  main 
floor  to  the  tiers  under  the  roof.  I  found  a  vacant  back  seat 
nearly  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  by  the  window,  and  got  into  it 
at  once. 

Spurgeon  was  then  reading  the  hymn,  stanza  by  stanza,  in 
rather  a  monotonous  and  declamatory  manner,  in  a  strong 
though  not  rich  voice,  which  could  be  heard  over  the  whole  of 
the  vast  assembly.  I  was  as  far  off  as  any  one  in  the  congre- 
gation ;  and  I  did  not,  I  think,  miss  a  syllable. 

I  could  see  the  man  plainly.  There  is  nothing  clerical,  as 
the  word  is  commonly  understood,-  in  his  appearance.  He  is 
large  limbed^  about  five  feet  ten  or  twelve  inches  high,  and 
full  enough  to  be  considered  corpulent.  He  has  a  florid  com- 
plexion, a  full,  broad  face,  is  rather  square  at  the  forehead, 
with  black  hair,  heavy  chin  and  jaw,  not  relieved  by  half-cut 

whiskers,  dark  as  his 
locks.  His  eyes,  which 
I  should  take  to  be 
gray,  are  capable  of 
great  variety  of  expres- 
sion. His  nose  is  broad, 
heavy,  disproportion- 
ately short,  and  in- 
clined to  turn  up  at 
the  end.  He  wore  the 
customary  suit  of 
black  and  the  indis- 
pensable white  cravat. 
He  looks  in  no  wise 
a  man  of  genius,  or 
even  of  marked  indi- 
viduality, though  he 
shows  strength  and 
decision  of  character  with  superabundance  of  physicality. 

The  entire  congregation  sang  the  hymn  ;  the  clergyman 
taking  part  with  the  rest  and  standing  in  the  pulpit  the  while. 


SPURGEON. 


HIS  STYLE   OF  PREACHING.  41 

The  effect  of  so  many  voices,  many  of  them  rich  and  sweet, 
though  uncultivated,  was  rather  impressive.  At  the  close  of 
the  hymn,  Spurgeon  offered  a  prayer,  which  was  given  in  the 
tone  and  manner  of  a  sermon.  Indeed,  I  thought  it  a  sermon, 
until  he  concluded  with  the  usual  form  of  amen.  He  peti- 
tioned Heaven  for  a  revival  of  vital  Christianity,  of  practical 
charity,  of  earnest  work  ;  for  the  blessing  of  the  nation,  its 
redemption  from  foreign  influences,  from  Popery  and  Ritual- 
ism— which  is  the  same  thing  (I  quote  him  exactly  here) — and 
the  return  of  a  simple  and  sacred  faith. 

His  sermon,  nearly  an  hour  long,  was  in  the  same  key.  It 
was  not  at  all  doctrinal.  He  declared  that  religion  should 
come  from  and  touch  the  heart;  that  Christians  should  be 
humble,  and  gentle,  and  tender,  as  Jesus  was;  that  they 
should  struggle,  and  agonize,  and  weep — the  more  tears  the 
better — and  strive  to  lift  themselves  above  the  sordid  cares  and 
selfish  anxieties  of  the  world.  God  did  not  want  those  who 
could  be  for  a  moment  without  Him.  Eveiy  true  Christian 
must  aspire  ;  must  recall  what  the  Saviour  had  suffered,  what 
the  martyrs  had  endured.  A  preacher  of  the  Gospel  must  be 
chosen  of  God.  No  one  should  be  a  minister  who  could  resist 
being  such ;  for  he  who  could  resist  had  no  vocation  for  the 
sacred  office.  The  ordinary  Christianity  of  the  day  was  not 
what  was  wanted.  It  was  cold,  empty,  a  thing  of  form.  "VVe 
needed  warm,  earnest,  devoted,  absorbing  work,  free  from  all 
compromise  with  sin,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil. 

Spurgeon  was  not  eloquent  in  a  single  passage ;  but  he  held 
his  hearers  to  the  end.  Not  one  person,  so  far  as  I  could  ob- 
serve, went  out  until  he  had  concluded ;  and  the  church  was 
very  uncomfortable  from  the  crowd  and  the  heat.  He  does 
not  impress  me  as  a  man  of  rare  gifts  or  even  of  extraordinary 
talent.  He  does  not  shine  in  logic,  nor  glow  in  rhetoric.  He 
is  fervid  without  color,  and  earnest  without  passion. 

Where,  then,  is  the  secret  of  his  power — for  power  he  cer- 
tainly has — with  the  English  people  ?  It  is  in  his  sympathy 
with  humanity,  his  understanding  of  the  popular  heart,  his  de- 
parture from  mere  dogma  and  creed,  and  his  unlikeness  to  the 
cold  formalism  of  the  Established  Church. 


42 


THE  BE  EC  HER    OF  BRITAIN. 


In  America,  in  France,  in  Germany,  lie  would  produce  no 
sensation ;  would  have  obtained  little  reputation.  But  in  Eng- 
land circumstances  favor  him  ;  and  he  is  doing,  no  doubt,  an 
excellent  work.  His  hearers  and  admirers  are  from  the  com- 
mon walks  of  life — intelligent,  but  not  cultivated,  persons, 
who  care  little  for  caste,  whose  tendencies  and  instincts  are 
democratic. 

Spurgeon  is  the  strongest  foe  Eitualism  has  in  the  British 
pulpit.  He  is  earnest  and  resolute,  and  draws  the  crowd  as  no 
other  man  on  that  island  does,  or  can.  He  has  been  called  the 
Beecher  of  Britain.  He  is  little  like  Beecher  has  not  his 
genius,  his  culture,  his  spontaneity,  his  magnetism.  He  is  far 
inferior  mentally  to  the  pastor  of  Plymouth  Church ;  but  he 
resembles  the  American  in  his  earnestness,  his  liberality,  his 
anxiety  to  do  good. 


--■<^-  K^   .---; 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE     GREAT     CITY. 

HE  British  metropolis  is  less  unpleasant  than  is 
usually  supposed.  Most  tourists  go  there  and 
behold  the  entire  city  wrapped  in  fog  and  mist 
and  smoke,  out  of  which  descends  a  constant  shower 
of  soot  and  dirt,  alternating  with  a  drizzling  and  irri- 
tating rain.  Umbrellas  and  soiled  linen,  and  ruffled 
temper  are  inseparable  companions,  especially  with 
strangers  in  London,  nine  months  out  of  twelve.  Consequent- 
ly after  waiting,  day  after  day,  for  clear  weather,  and  petition- 
ing heaven  in  vain  for  enough  of  blue  sky  to  make  a  violet  of, 
and  after  seeing  nothing  but  miles  of  crooked  and  narrow 
streets,  full  of  begrimed  and  unhandsome  houses,  tourists  lose 
patience,  despair  of  England,  rush  over  to  France,  glorify  Paris, 
and  execrate  London  for  all  time  to  come.  They  have  no  idea 
there  are  any  pleasant  spots  or  green  places  in  London.  They 
hardly  go  beyond  Trafalgar  square.  Its  bronze  lions  seem  to 
hold  them  at  bay  in  Charing  Cross.  If  they  would  penetrate 
to  the  quarter  about  Hyde  or  Regent's  Park,  or  over  to  St. 
James's,  or  to  Belgravia,  or  to  Tyburnia,  or  to  dotting  Hill, 
or  Bayswater,  and  the  weather  should  favor  them,  they  would 
see  that  the  great  city  has  her  elegant  quarters,  her  fair  gardens, 
her  pleasant  breathing  places,  like  other  European  capitals. 

The  localities  I  have  named  look  so  unlike  the  East  End, 
given  over  to  business,  the  docks,  and  the  toiling  and  suffering 
poor,  so  unlike  even  the  Surrey  side  of  the  Thames,  that  one 
can  hardly  believe  them  part  of  London.  But  even  the  West 
End  brightness  is  not  without  its  shadows,  when  you  think  of 


44 


PROMINENT  JOURNALS. 


the  extreme  indigence  and  privation  of  the  residents  of  Black- 
wall,  of  the  alleys,  corners,  and  lanes  where  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  starve  and  sin  that  the  few  privileged  ones  may 
lie  in  purple,  and  drink  the  nectar  which  gilded  injustice  distils. 
The  London  newspapers  advertise  themselves  in  the  most 
flaring  style.  On  all  the  board-fences  and  dead-walls  you  see 
immense  posters  about  the  Telegraph  having  the  greatest  cir- 
culation in  the  world ;  the  Standard  being  the  largest  paper ; 
the  News  the  most  readable,  etc.     The  omnibuses,  by  huge 


BATHING  AT  HYDE  PARK. 


signs  upon  the  top,  convey  the  same  kind  of  intelligence  ;  and, 
indeed,  the  whole  city  is  filled  with  this  journalistic  advertising. 
The  Times  continues,  of  course,  extremely  prosperous,  and 
does  not  thrust  its  excellence  into  the  public  eyes  from  street 
corners,  like  many  of  its  contemporaries.  It  has  less  influence 
than  it  once  had,  and  the  Telegraph,  JVews,  and  Tall  Mall 
Gazette  have  interfered  with  its  profits,  but  not  materially. 
Of  the  dailies  in  London,  the  four  named  are  the  most  money- 


THE   THUNDERER, 


45 


making  journals ; — a  number  of  them  barely  making  their  ex- 
penses. 

The  Times,  you  know,  changes  its  course  suddenly,  when 
it  so  chooses,  without  giving  any  reason  therefor.  Monday's 
issue  supports  a  certain  policy  which  it  has  advocated  for 
months.  Tuesday  morning  it  appears  with  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent policy,  and  never  a  syllable  as  to  the  change.  This  has 
so  often  happened  that  the  public  has  ceased  to  wonder  at  the 
revolutions  of  the  Thunderer.     One  good  thing  in  the  Times 


DELIVERING  THE   "  TIMES. ' 


is  that  when  it  alters  its  views  on  a  certain  question,  it  dismisses 
the  writers  who  have  been  supporters  of  the  old  views,  and 
employs  new  writers  for  the  new  views.  Unlike  our  journals, 
it  does  not  supply  itself  with  elastic  scribblers,  who  can  write 
any  question  up  or  down — contradict  and  abuse  to-day  what 
they  uttered  yesterday  as  deliberate  convictions. 

The  Times  is  very  anxious  to  conceal  the  names  of  its  ed- 
itorial contributors,  and  when  they  become  known,  whether  by 
accident  or  design,  it  often  dispenses  with  their  services,  and 


46  NOTED    GARDENS. 

never  engages  them  again.  The  journal  is  owned  by  several 
wealthy  men,  the  largest  owner  being  Mr.  "Walters,  formerly 
member  of  Parliament.  The  course  of  the  Times  has  always 
been  mysterious  and  beyond  conjecture.  Though  usually  on 
•  the  side  of  the  capitalists  and  the  heavy  merchants,  it  really 
speaks  for  itself  alone ;  sometimes  going  in  direct  opposition 
to  what  seems  its  best  interests. 

The  Alhambra  Palace,  of  which  we  hear  much  in  this  coun- 
try, as  a  peculiar  and  racy  entertainment,  I  visited,  as  traveller 
bound.  The  building  is  very  spacious,  somewhat  tawdry,  and 
dingy.  It  has  three  galleries,  and  in  the  space  under  the  dome 
are  tables,  flanked  with  benches,  where  those  who  like  can 
eat,  drink,  and  smoke  during  the  performance.  On  the  out- 
side of  the  space  filled  with  tables  are  a  number  of  stands 
where  refreshments  are  sold  by  young  women,  who  strive  to 
be  engaging.  There  is  room  for  promenading,  and  during  the 
evening  men  of  a  common  kind  lounge  around,  smoke,  drink, 
and  chat  with  the  waiting-maids.  The  performance  consists 
of  music,  vocal  and  instrumental,  dancing,  burlesque,  tight-rope 
walking,  and  other  varieties.  The  ballet,  which  had  been 
praised  to  me,  I  found  very  inferior.  Not  one  of  the  fifty  or 
sixty  girls  could  dance ;  but  they  made  up  for  that  by  lavish 
display  of  person  and  extremely  immodest  gestures.  They 
seemed  on  very  good  terms  with  many  persons  in  the  audience, 
leering,  winking,  and  smiling  at  fellows  you  would  avoid  in- 
stinctively if  you  met  them  late  at  night  on  London  bridge. 

Blondin,  styled  on  the  programme  "  The  Hero  of  Niagara," 
did  his  familiar  feats  over  the  heads  of  the  audience,  who 
would  have  been  more  interested  in  his  performance  if  he  had 
been  of  the  opposite  sex. 

The  entire  entertainment — to  call  it  such — was  very  dol- 
orous. 

I  was  present  at  the  opening  of  the  Cremorne  Gardens. 
On  the  occasion  a  ball  was  given,  which,  it  was  understood^ 
was  to  be  attended  by  the  representatives  of  the  demi-monde. 
The  night  was  cool;  so  those  who  attended  crowded  into  the 
large  hall  where  the  dancing  was  to  be ;  few  of  the  men  remov- 


THE   CREMORNE. 


47 


ing  their  overcoats.  The  women  came  late,  many  of  them  be- 
ing members  of  the  ballet  corps  of  the  theatres,  and  not 
relieved  of  duty,  therefore,  until  nearly  midnight.  The  women 
were  nearly  all  of  them  decidedly  plump,  and  showed  great 
ingenuity  in  keeping  on  the  wisp  of  drapery,  believed  errone- 
ously to  be  a  waist.  They  were  painted  red  and  white,  and 
their  eyebrows,  lashes,  and  eyes  darkened  to  give  them  ex- 
pression— a  melancholy  failure. 


£AP 


AFTEK  THE  DANCE. 


The  proportion  of  men  to  women  was  as  twenty  to  one. 
Some  of  the  latter  would  have  seemed  pretty  if  they  had  been 
in  any  degree  modest.  A  few  of  the  girls  were  in  full  mas- 
culine dress — black  dress  coats,  white  cravats  and  gloves — and 
attracted  much  attention  by  their  rollicking  licentiousness. 

The  Cremorne  is  a  very  free  place,  as  may  be  surmised  by 
the  fact  that  not  long  ago  at  a  masquerade  a  number  of  women 
appeared  in  real  Highland  costume,  and  did  some  astonishing 


48 


BEAUTIFUL    WOMEN. 


waltzing  in  a  densely  crowded  assembly.     Paris  would  not 
tolerate  that  for  a  moment. 

What  impressed  me  most  at  the  Cremorne  was  the  appear- 
ance of  many  very  young  men  who  accompanied  the  painted 
wantons  there.  The  young  men  had  hardly  the  first  down  on 
their  cheeks;  were  excessively  "spooney"  looking,  and  re- 
minded one  of  theological  students  laboring  to  be  fast,  and 
meeting  with  very  dubious  success.  They  must  have  been  the 
victims  of  the  loose  creatures  they  so  fondly  clung  to. 

The  English  beauty,  upon  which  English  writers  insist  so 

perpetually,  seems  to 
me  much  exaggerat- 
ed. The  girls  are 
fresh  and  healthy- 
looking,  and  when 
very  young  —  from 
twelve  to  twenty — 
are  often  very  hand- 
some. Then  they 
remind  one  of 
American  girls ;  but 
when  fully  matured, 
and  after  marriage, 
they  '  acquire  a  ful- 
ness, not  to  say  fit- 
ness, that  dissipates 
all  romance,  and  es- 
tablishes a  decree  of 
physicality  it  is  dif- 
ficult for  us  to  admire. 

The  English  women,  regarded  from  a  utilitarian  point  of 
view,  are  superior  to  our  more  delicate  and  spiritual  beauties. 
They  are  better  adapted  to  become  mothers,  to  ride  a  steeple- 
chase, to  take  long  journeys,  to  destroy  good  dinners  and 
brown  stout.  But  that  is  so  material,  it  interferes  with  our 
idea  of  the  esthetic.  And  beauty  should  be  considered  for  it- 
self alone,  independent  of  any  use  to  which  it  may  be  put. 


AN  ENGLISH  BEAUTY. 


CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  49 

A  strange  scandal  is  that  about  the  present  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington, whose  residence  stands  near  Hyde  Park  corner.  The 
duke  has  never  shown  any  particular  capacity,  except  for 
rapid  morals,  for  which  he  once  enjoyed  considerable  reputa- 
tion. The  story  runs  that  while  with  a  profligate  companion 
in  Southern  Europe,  some  years  ago,  they  obtained  entrance 
by  stealth  or  force  into  a  Greek  convent.  The  religious  dig- 
nitaries found  them  there,  and  regarding  the  offence  as  the 
greatest  sacrilege,  determined  to  put  the  young  noblemen  to 
death.  They  gave  the  rakes  their  choice  between  Abelard's 
fate  and  mmediate  execution.  "Wellington's  companion  pre- 
ferred death  ;  but  Wellington  accepted  the  dreadful  alternative. 

Improbable  as  this  story  is,  many  persons  believe  it.  The 
foundation  for  it  is,  I  suspect,  that  the  duke  was  very  wild, 
and  that  after  several  years  of  marriage,  has  had  no  children. 

The  fish  known  as  white  bait,  and  caught  at  a  certain  sea- 
son— the  English  say,  only  in  the  Thames — is  something  every 
American  feels  obliged  to  eat.  It  is  a  very  small  fish,  resem- 
bling our  minnow,  and  receives  its  name  from  its  color,  and 
from  its  use  as  bait.  The  English  think  it  delicious,  and  boast 
of  it  as  much  as  the  Russians  do  of  the  sterlet ;  but  I  cannot, 
after  frequent  tests,  discover  its  great  excellence.  The  favorite 
mode  of  cooking  white  bait  is  to  fry  it,  and  then  eat  it  with 
lemon  juice  and  brown  bread  and  butter.  It  tastes  very  much 
like  our  smelt,  which  in  flavor  it  does  not  surpass.  It  is  ex- 
pensive, which  may  account  in  part  for  the  reputation  it  enjoys. 

The  Established  Church  is  in  a  singular  state  just  now. 
Everything  indicates  that  it  must  be  the  Disestablished  Church 
before  long,  so  cold  and  dead  have  many  of  its  forms  become, 
and  so  incongruous  its  elements.  There  are  four  divisions  in 
the  Church — the  Ritualists,  the  High  Churchmen,  the  Low 
Churchmen,  and  the  Broad  Churchmen ;  the  last  including 
latitudinarians,  rationalists,  free  thinkers,  and  even  atheists. 
The  Ritualists  and  Broad  Churchmen  are  declared  to  be  sin- 
cere and  earnest ;  but  the  other  two  to  be  indifferent,  willing 
to  accept  any  sort  of  compromise  that  prevents  agitation,  and 
leaves  them  to  their  stolid  quietude. 
4 


50  DEAN  STANLEY. 

Dean  Stanley,  of  Westminster  Abbey,  one  of  the  most 
gifted  of  the  Episcopal  prelates — by  many  persons  considered 
the  intellectual  head  of  the  Church — is  said,  by  those  claiming 
to  know,  to  be  a  mere  deist,  a  disciple  of  Theodore  Parker's 
radical  doctrines.  His  sermons  are  very  liberal,  but  so  subtle 
and  philosophical  that  his  hearers,  failing  to  understand  their 
import,  believe  them  the  expression  of  true  orthodoxy.  Many 
of  the  prelates,  like  Pusey  and  Colenso,  are  charged  with  all 
manner  of  heresies;  but,  according  to  the  articles  of  the 
Church,  there  Seems  no  way  of  removing  clerical  dignitaries, 
whatever  their  opinions.  It  is  claimed  that  when  the  Church 
was  formed,  it  was  a  compromise  with  different  elements,  and 
was  purposely  made  so  broad  and  elastic  that  everybody  could 
hold  his  own  views,  and  yet  remain  in  the  pale. 


CHAPTEK  V. 


THE    PROVINCES    OF    ENGLAND. 


ANUFACTURING  towns  are  always  melan- 
choly, those  of  England  especially  so.  It  mat- 
ters little  whether  it  be  Manchester  or  Birming- 
ham, Sheffield  or  Newcastle.  Nearly  the  entire 
population  seem  to  be  operatives,  who  have  a 
worn,  haggard,  over-worked  appearance,  that  is 
unpleasant,  not  to  say  painful,  to  contemplate. 
They  live  in  wretched,  crowded,  ill-ventilated  quarters ;  have 
no  leisure  for  reflection  or  improvement,  but  toil  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave ;  substitute  dissipation  for  recreation ;  fill 
the  coffers  of  a  few  capitalists,  and  die  the  drudges  they  have 
lived.  They  meet  with  little  sympathy  in  England.  They 
know  they  can  never  rise  beyond  what  they  are.  They  have 
no  future,  as  they  have  in  our  country.  They  are  mere  cura- 
berers  of  the  soil  for  others'  uses ;  are  regarded  as  machines 
worth  so  much  per  day.  They  are  bound  by  an  iron  aestiny, 
and  when  they  quit  life,  they  can  have  little  to  regre  since 
they  have  never  had  anything  to  hope  for.  Caste  and  capital 
rule  on  British  soil,  and  Lord  Noodle  or  Sir  Edmund  Profli- 
gate, though  all  sin  and  selfishness,  is  honored  and  praised, 
while  the  poor  honest  man  is  never  taken  into  account. 

Coventry  is  a  city  I  visited  on  account  of  its  ancient  fame. 
I  had  expected  to  find  it  very  old  and  unique — a  kind  of  Eng- 
lish Ferrara  or  Mantua ;  but  it  shows  much  freshness  and  spirit 
of  improvement.  It  has  sixty  thousand  people  and  many  new 
buildings ;  though  the  old  part  of  the  town,  with  its  small  tiled 
houses,  and  narrow  streets,  reveals  its  past.     It  has  been  a  large 


52  PEEPING   TOM. 

manufacturing  point  for  ribbons  and  watches,  but,  during  the 
last  few  years,  its  trade  lias  exhibited  a  marked  decline,  like 
most  of  the  manufacturing  towns  of  England.  In  all  of  them 
there  are  many  persons  unemployed,  and  the  number  is  rap- 
idly increasing.  Pauperism  is  spreading  throughout  the  coun- 
try, in  which  no  one  can  travel  without  arriving  at  the  convic- 
tion that  the  great  material  prosperity  of  Britain  is  on  the 
wane. 

The  sole  remedy  for  the  existing  condition  of  things  is 
emigration.  Thousands  of  honest  working-men  would  come 
to  America  now  if  they  had  the  means ;  and  the  next  ten 
years  will  see  a  steady  stream  flowing  to  our  shores.  We  have 
long  sheltered  English  pickpockets,  prize-fighters,  and  burg- 
lars :  it  is  quite  time  we  were  favored  with  a  worthier  class. 

Coventry  is  always  associated  with  FalstafPs  ragged  scare- 
crow army ;  and  were  the  oleaginous  Jack  alive,  he  would 
have  little  trouble  in  recruiting  as  forlorn  a  regiment  as  that 
which,  according  to  that  clever  reporter,  "Will  Shakespeare,  so 
awoke  his  uproarious  laughter. 

Lady  Godiva  and  Peeping  Tom  involuntarily  enter  the 
mind  when  Coventry  is  mentioned.  I  wonder  if  any  Tom 
could  be  found  now-a-days.  This  age  is  so  accustomed  to 
nudity  in  women  that  I  fancy  all  curiosity  on  that  subject  is 
allayed.  The  prevailing  modes  and  the  ballet  have  destroyed 
much  of  the  charm  and  mystery  of  loveliness  unadorned,  and 
few  men  are  so  ignorant  or  so  prurient  as  to  incur  risk  or  dan- 
ger to  behold  Godiva  riding  through  the  streets  when  Godivas 
may  be  viewed  with  entire  security  at  any  of  the  theatres,  and 
semi-nakedness  leisurely  observed  in  almost  any  fashionable 
drawing-room. 

The  famous  ride  of  Godiva  is  still  repeated  there,  with  the 
difference  that  a  handsome  youth  is  substituted  for  the  fair 
lady.  Every  year,  about  Easter-time,  a  young  man  is  attired 
in  flesh-colored,  tight-fitting  silk,  and  with  a  wig  of  flowing, 
yellow  tresses,  rides  through  the  city  amid  a  crowd  of  specta- 
tors. The  custom  pleases  the  people,  who,  perhaps,  have  imagi- 
nation enough  to  change  the  sex  of  the  masquerading  boy. 


GHATSWORTH.  53 

Chatsworth,  you  know,  is  one  of  the  largest  estates  of  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire.  It  is  in  Derbyshire,  and,  as  all  tourists 
are  supposed  to  go  there,  I  made  the  visit.  Chatsworth  is 
certainly  a  magnificent  estate,  consisting  of  over  seven  thou- 
sand acres,  admirably  laid  out,  and  liberally  stocked  with  sheep 
and  cattle  of  the  finest  breeds.  There  are  also  preserves  of 
game,  and  parks  of  deer,  with  groves,  gardens,  and  conserva- 
tories, worth  a  colossal  fortune. 

It  seems  unjust  that  one  man  should  own  so  much  land 
where  it  is  so  scarce  as  in  England ;  and  yet  Chatsworth  is 
only  one  of  seven  or  eight  splendid  estates  belonging  to  the 
Duke,  He  is  estimated  to  be  worth  about  twenty  millions  of 
pounds — one  hundred  millions  of  dollars — and  to  have  an 
annual  income  of  fullv  ten  millions  of  dollars,  a  sum  sufficient, 
with  careful  economy,  to  preserve  him  from  absolute  want. 
He  has  a  model  village  for  his  tenants  near  his  estate,  and  it  is 
really  what  it  claims  to  be.  The  dwellings  are  all  substantially 
built  of  stone,  with  pleasant  gardens,  and  would  be  desirable 
as  homes  for  men  of  culture  and  taste.  The  Duke's  residence, 
open  to  visitors,  is  completely  palatial,  filled  with  fine  frescos, 
marbles,  paintings,  historical  relics,  and  articles  of  virtu.  The 
country  people  for  many  miles  around  deem  it  a  rare  privilege 
to  see  it,  and  going  through  it  is  an  era  in  their  quiet  and 
monotonous  lives.  The  privilege  costs  them  two  or  three 
shillings,  for  everything  in  England  must  be  paid  for.  The 
money  is  given  to  the  servants,  of  course,  but  I  should  sup- 
pose a  man  of  the  Duke's  wealth  might  pay  his  domestics 
enough  to  prevent  them  from  taking  money  from  strangers. 
They  do  not  know  how  to  extend  courtesies  in  Europe.  They 
call  places  free  to  the  public ;  but  no  one  can  enter  them  with- 
out expending  as  much  as  he  would  to  go  to  the  theatre  or  a 
concert.  It  is  strange  that  noblemen  do  not  perceive  the  bad 
taste  of  allowing  their  servants  to  receive  money.  It  not  only 
undoes  an  act  of  kindness,  but  makes  it  appear  as  if  they 
were  making  show-shops  of  their  own  homes. 

Chatsworth  is  over  four  hundred  years  old  ;  has  been  occu- 
pied in  that  time  by  the  most  distinguished  historic  person- 


54  HAUNTED    CASTLE. 

ages.  Queen  Elizabeth,  Mary  Stuart,  Charles  L,  Charles  II., 
Queen  Anne,  Bacon,  Essex,  and  Raleigh  have  banqueted  and 
slept  beneath  its  roof. 

Five  or  six  miles  from  Chatsworth  is  Haddon  Hall,  one  of 
the  best  preserved  old  castles  I  have  seen  in  England.  It  was 
built  during  the  reign  of  William  the  Conqueror,  and  though 
unoccupied  since  1700,  it  is  kept  in  nearly  the  same  state  that  it 
was  five  centuries  ago.  It  gives  an  excellent  idea  of  the  strong- 
holds of  the  feudal  times,  when  bold  and  unscrupulous  barons 
held  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  their  vassals,  and  robbed, 
fought,  and  pillaged,  as  they  chose.  There  are  the  vast,  rude 
kitchens  and  larders,  the  oak-built  banquet-halls,  the  council 
chambers,  the  ball-rooms  hung  with  faded  tapestries,  the  closets 
of  the  jesters,  as  they  were  centuries  ago.  In  the  banquet- 
hall  is  an  iron  ring,  to  which  those  who  failed  to  drink  a  certain 
quantity  of  wine  were  fastened,  and  cold  water  poured  down 
their  necks. 

The  Hall,  which  is  the  property  of  the  Duke  of  Rutland, 
is  very  interesting,  but  so  dreary  that  few  commoners  would 
care  to  live  in  it.  It  is  said  to  be  haunted — all  old  buildings 
long  deserted  get  that  reputation — and  by  the  spirit  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman,  whom  a  baron,  in  the  time  of  Edward  I.,  carried 
off  in  one  of  his  forays  and  murdered,  because  she  would  not 
submit  to  his  desires.  The  fair  ghost  is  heard  to  moan  and 
scream  in  the  chambers  of  the  round  tower,  and  to  be  seen 
flitting  about  the  battlements  during  tempestuous  nights. 
Many  of  the  rustics  would  not  sleep  in  the  Hall  for  all  the 
Duke  is  worth,  and  some  of  them  claim  to  have  heard  the  mys- 
terious sounds,  and  to  have  seen  the  shadowy  virgin  more  than 
once.  The  Hall  is  well  fitted  for  ghosts,  and  I  think  if  I  were 
one  I  should  immediately  take  possession.  I  am  now  medi- 
tating a  supernatural  story,  and  I  intend  to  lay  the  scene  there, 
having  carefully  noted  down  the  various  rumors  that  are  afloat 
respecting  the  ancient  castle.  A  woman  in  white  conducted  me 
through  the  different  apartments ;  but  she  did  not  look  very 
ghost-like,  and  her  mischievous  eye,  and  pouting  lips,  and 
easy  manner,  as  she  ran  carelessly  up  the  stone  staircases,  did 


YORK.  55 

not  indicate  that  she  was  in  danger  of  dying  from  the  same 
cause  that  gave  to  Haddon  its  wandering  spirit. 

York  gave  me  a  day  of  satisfaction.  Its  ancient  walls, 
though  restored  in  part,  are  in  general  excellently  preserved. 
The  remains  of  its  old  castle  and  St.  Mary's  Abbey,  and  its 
Cathedral — the  largest  in  England,  not  excepting  St.  Paul's — 
liberally  repay  a  visit,  apart  from  its  many  grotesque  houses 
and  antique  streets.  The  Cathedral  is  a  fine  specimen  of  gothic, 
and  dates  from  the  seventh  century,  though  it  did  not  have  any- 
thing like  its  present  form  until  five  hundred  years  later.  It 
is  in  the  shape  of  a  cross,  a  square  massive  tower  rising  from 
the  intersection  to  the  height  of  240  feet,  and  two  other  towers 
of  200  feet  flanking  the  richly-decorated  front.  The  entire 
length  is  524  feet,  and  the  width  222  feet.  The  carved  images 
of  the  Norman  kings,  beginning  with  William,  in  the  middle 
of  the  nave,  are  the  best  specimens  of  comic  sculpture  that  I 
can  remember.  The  monarchs  resemble  Celtic  gentlemen, 
who,  after  holding  an  animated  argument  with  shillalahs,  had 
stood  up  in  a  row  to  whistle  an  Irish  war-song  with  parched 
lips  and  cracking  throats.  Such  a  droll  crew  of  crowned 
mountebanks  can  hardly  be  found  anywhere  else  in  ecclesiastic 
sculpture.  If  JPunch  would  copy  them,  they  would  be  vastly 
superior  to  most  of  his  illustrations.  The  much  boasted  organ 
of  the  Minster  disappointed  me  greatly.  It  is  not  half  so 
sweet  or  rich  in  tone  as  the  organ  at  Haarlem,  Freiberg  or 
Berne :  but  vou  can't  make  Yorkshiremen  believe  so. 

The  county  jail  is  now  in  the  old  castle,  and  it  is  a  much 
better  and  neater  jail  than  any  in  America.  I  can  conscien- 
tiously recommend  it  to  some  of  our  countrymen  whose  mod- 
esty prevents  them,  though  conscious  of  their  deserving,  from 
patronizing  home  institutions.  Among  the  curiosities  of  the 
prison  are  Dick  Turpin's  manacles  and  pistols,  and  the  cell  in 
which  he  was  confined.  He  was  hanged  near  York;  but, 
owing  to  an  unfortunate  fall,  he  was  prevented  from  telling 
how  he  liked  it. 

The  origin  of  York  is  almost  lost  in  fable.  Under  the 
Romans,  Hadrian,  Severus,  Constantine,  and  other  emperors 


56  NEWCASTLE. 

resided  there,  Severns  having  died  in  the  town,  and  his 
funeral  rites  having  been  performed  on  Sivers  Hill,  near  the 
city.  During  the  Saxon  rule  it  was  the  capital  of  the  king- 
doms of  Northumbria  and  Deira,  and  in  the  eighth  century  its 
diocesan  school  attracted  students  from  all  parts  of  the  king- 
dom and  the  Continent.  Its  ancient  walls,  three  miles  long, 
restored  by  Edward  I.,  have  four  imposing  gates,  and  now 
serve  for  a  promenade.  Most  of  the  streets  are  narrow  and 
irregular,  lined  with  very  antique-looking  houses ;  but  many 
parts  have  been  modernized,  and  have  handsome  buildings. 
Parliament  street,  with  its  termini,  Sampson  square,  and  the 
Pavement,  in  which  the  markets  are  held,  is  one  of  the  pleas- 
ant quarters  of  the  old  town,  which  now  has  a  population  of 
over  42,000. 

Newcastle  is  the  Pittsburgh  of  Great  Britain,  and,  though 
well  built,  is  one  of  the  dingiest  and  dreariest  towns  in  the 
whole  United  Kingdom. 

It  is  improving  rapidly,  and  contains  much  wealth ;  but  I 
cannot  see  how  anything  except  the  tyranny  of  what  men  call 
business,  can  induce  any  one  to  live  there. 

"What  is  known  as  the  Old  Castle,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tyne,  is  a  most  gloomy  and  most  forbidding  building.  I 
looked  at  it  one  evening  under  a  chilly  and  lowering  sky,  and 
thought  it  ought  to  have  been  one  of  the  original  contributions 
to  Dante's  Inferno.  To  stand  under  its  shadows  is  enough  to 
drive  the  last  atom  of  cheerfulness  out  of  the  lightest  heart. 
Persons  troubled  with  excessive  animal  spirits  should  take  an 
ocular  dose  of  the  dark  tower  two  or  three  times  a  day.  I 
have  no  means  of  ascertaining  how  many  people  thereabouts 
go  to  the  gods  by  their  own  deliberate  act ;  but  if  a  large  num- 
ber do  not,  it  is  because  sensibility  is  not  one  of  the  English 
idiosyncrasies.  Most  men  are  affected  by  externals,  which  are 
in  that  city  of  the  most  depressing  character. 

The  sun  may  shine  there,  but  it  did  not  while  I  was  in  the 
vicinity — a  fact  of  which  the  natives  seemed  to  be  quite  un- 
aware. "  Fine  weather  this,"  said  a  citizen  to  me  one  morn- 
ing.    "  Oh,  yes,  delightful,"  I  replied,  supposing  him  to  be 


CLOUDS   OF  SMOKE. 


57 


jesting — an  error  on  my  part,  which  his  subsequent  remarks 
made  clear.  Englishmen  rarely  joke  on  any  subject,  and  the 
spirit  of  badinage,  so  common  with  us,  they  seldom  under- 
stand. Fine  weather  indeed  !  When  he  used  the  phrase  the 
air  was  so  dense  with  smoke  and  clouds  formed  therefrom  that 
any  one  might  have  believed  the  centre  of  the  solar  system  in 
total  eclipse. 

Newcastle  has  very  extensive  manufactures,  mostly  in  iron, 
and  many  handsome  buildings,  marred  by  great  clouds  of  per- 
petual smoke,  which  hang  over  the  city  like  a  pall.  Its  pres- 
ent population  is  about  120,000,  and  it  boasts  of  Duns  Scotus ; 
Akenside,  the  poet ;  Iiutton,  the  mathematician  ;  the  Earl  of 
Eldon,  the  famous  chancellor, 
its  native  citizens. 


and  Admiral  Collingwood, 


as 


CHAPTEE  VI. 


WARWICKSHIRE. 


>EAMIJSTGTO]Sr,  you  know,  is  a  very  fashionable 
watering-place,  perhaps  the  most  fashionable  of 
all  the  inland  spas,  of  England,  having  grown  so  of 
late  years,  during  which  it  has  quite  eclipsed  Bath, 
whose  day  of  favor  and  prestige  has  gone  by. 

Its  saline  waters  are  highly  recommended,  es- 
pecially by  those  who  have  never  tried  them.  Hav- 
ing experimented  upon  them  in  a  small  way,  both 
internally  and  externally,  I  should  judge  that  a  man  of  ex- 
tremely vigorous  constitution  might  drink  and  bathe  in  them, 
and  live  to  be  thirty  years  of  age.  It  is  quite  possible  that  I 
am  not  a  good  judge,  having  suffered  from  excess  of  health 
from  my  earliest  recollection.  I  gave  my  opinion  one  morn- 
ing to  an  old  habitue  of  the  place,  when  he  told  me  the  waters 
were  for  invalids,  not  for  robust  persons.  Hence  I  conclude 
that,  while  the  springs  may  kill  a  well  man,  they  may  cure  an 
ill  one.  Argal,  as  Shakespeare's  clowns  say,  they  are  not  for 
me,  and  I'll  no  more  of  them. 

Leamington  is  an  exceedingly  pleasant  town  of  30,000  in- 
habitants, a  good  deal  like  Saratoga,  except  that  it  is  better 
built  and  more  attractive  in  its  surroundings.  Its  hotels  are 
superior  to  Saratoga,  though  less  pretentious,  and,  albeit  very 
dear  for  England,  would  be  thought  very  cheap  in  America. 
The  chief  charm  of  Leamington  is  its  contiguity  to  several  of 
the  most  interesting  places  in  England.  It  is  in  Warwick- 
shire (pronounced  there  as  if  it  had  no  second  w),  and  within  a 
few  miles  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  Kenil worth,  Newstead  Abbey, 


KENILWORTH.  59 

Warwick  Castle,  and  Guy's  Cliff.  With  those  I  chiefly  con- 
cerned myself ;  and  as  the  weather  was  delightful — very  much 
like  our  month  of  May — I  enjoyed  my  rides  and  drives  exceed- 
ingly. 

The  most  interesting  point  after  Stratford  is  Kenilworth, 
which,  no  doubt,  owes  its  reputation  more  to  Walter  Scott's 
novel  than  to  any  historic  account  ever  given  of  it.  Who  can 
think  of  Kenilworth  without  recalling  the  selfish  and  cruel 
Earl  of  Leicester  and  poor  Amy  Robsart,  so  brutally  treated 
by  her  perfidious  lover  and  inhuman  husband?  The  apart- 
ments (or  what  remains  of  them)  which  Amy  occupied  are 
still  pointed  out,  but  her  life  at  Kenilworth  is  so  shrouded  in 
mystery  that  all  statements  made  about  her  must  be  received 
with  caution.  She  was  a  foully-wronged  woman  beyond  ques- 
tion ;  but  so  many  women  have  been  foully  wronged  that 
mere  wrong — more's  the  pity — entitles  them  to  little  distinc- 
tion. 

Kenilworth  is  more  of  a  ruin  than  I  had  expected  to  find 
it.  What  Cromwell's  soldiers  left,  sight-seers  have  sought  to 
rifle.  They  have  hacked  the  ruins  and  pulled  out  bricks  to 
such  an  extent  that  entire  portions  of  the  walls  have  fallen 
down ;  and  those  still  standing  require  the  support  of  heavy 
timbers. 

What  a  mania  is  this  of  relic-hunters  !  To  gratify  their 
vulgar  curiosity,  they  spare  nothing.  If  left  to  themselves, 
they  would  carry  off  the  Coliseum  and  the  Alhambra,  piece  by 
piece,  and  reduce  St.  Peter's  and  the  Escorial  to  the  condition 
of  the  Heidelberg  Castle  and  the  Baths  of  Caracalla.  They 
are  the  modern  Yandals,  and  without  the  excuse  of  the  old 
barbarians,  they  wish  their  culture  to  be  an  apology  for  their 
ravages. 

Kenilworth  is  supremely  picturesque,  with  its  broken 
arches,  its  crumbling  turrets,  its  shattered  battlements,  its 
mouldy  towers  covered  with  ivy  and  pleading  with  silent  elo- 
quence for  the  romance  of  the  past.  The  great  gate-house  or 
barbican  is  in  the  best  state  of  preservation,  but  much  of  that 
was  despoiled  by  Puritanic  rage,  and  appropriated  to  ignoble 


60  HEJHXISCENCES   OF  THE   CASTLE. 

uses.  Caesar's  Tower,  in  the  Norman  style  of  architecture,  is 
the  least  imperfect  part  of  the  ruins.  It  was  formerly  the  keep 
and  citadel,  and  its  lofty  arches  and  the  great  thickness  of  its 
walls  remind  me  of  the  Claudian  aqueduct  at  Rome.  The 
Banqueting  Hall,  built  by  John  of  Gaunt,  is  quite  complete  in 
parts.  There  Robert  Dudley,  the  courtly  villain  and  knightly 
sycophant,  entertained  the  petticoated  tyrant,  and  compared 
her  homeliness  to  the  beauty  of  Venus  and  the  freshness  of 
Hebe.  There,  for  generations,  were  the  royal  ceremonials, 
the  chivalrous  assemblies,  and  the  magnificent  revels,  in  which 
the  Plantagenets  and  Tudors  took  conspicuous  part.  How 
many  splendid  women  and  gallant  warriors  have  laughed  and 
loved  there  over  their  wine ;  how  many  jewelled  hands  have 
touched  with  a  thrill  that  was  a  revelation ;  how  many  mailed 
heels  have  rung  upon  the  marble  pavements,  and  quaffed 
bumpers  to  York  or  Lancaster  before  they  went  to  the  tourna- 
ment and  the  front  of  battle  !  The  scenes  of  pomp  and  was- 
sail were  so  easily  recalled  that  I  lost  myself  in  the  purple 
mists  of  fancy  until  the  cawing  of  the  rooks  flying  about  the 
battlements,  reminded  me  that  I  stood  by  the  grave  of  centu- 
ries. Mortimer's  Tower,  where  the  treacherous  Earl  of  March 
feasted  with  his  mistress,  the  unchaste  Queen  of  Edward  II., 
while  the  unfortunate  monarch  and  his  band  languished  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  castle,  has  almost  entirely  disappeared.  So  has 
the  Tilt  Yard,  in  which  the  famous  tournament  of  the  Round 
Table  took  place  before  the  high-born  beauties  of  the  day. 

One  can  judge  of  what  Kenilworth  must  have  been  by 
what  it  is.  There  is  an  engraving,  by  Ratclyffe,  of  the  castle 
in  1620,  which  shows  it  in  all  its  beauty,  with  the  ornamental 
gardens  surrounding  the  Plaisance,  filled  with  fountains,  avi- 
aries, statues,  arches,  and  grottos.  With  Elizabeth  the  last 
gleam  of  its  splendor  departed ;  but  with  her  and  her  magnifi- 
cent era  of  poets,  warriors,  statesmen,  and  scholars,  it  will  al- 
ways be  associated.  Kenilworth  was  a  right  royal  place  once ; 
never  more  so  than  when  the  last  of  the  Tudors  carried  her 
red  hair  and  Amazonian  features  to  the  entertainment  that 
nearly  made  Leicester  bankrupt. 


WARWICK  CASTLE.  61 

They  were  copious  drinkers  in  those  days,  for,  according 
to  an  antique  chronicler,  a  thousand  hogsheads  of  beer  and 
wine  were  consumed  during  the  festal  occasion  on  which  the 
Queen  was  the  guest  of  the  fawning  and  favored  Earl.  Eliza- 
beth herself  was  a  very  capable  imbiber  of  liquids  that  cheer 
and  do  inebriate,  and  tradition  has  it  that  she  frequently  be- 
came so  affected  by  her  potations  that  some  one  of  her  numer- 
ous favorites  had  to  carry  her  to  bed.  A  magnificent,  aquiline- 
nosed  sham  was  that  self-styled  Maiden  Queen  ! 

Warwick  Castle  is  one  of  the  finest  in  England,  and  beauti- 
fully situated  on  the  Avon — Shakespeare's  river,  as  it  may 
well  be  called.  Its  origin  is  mythical,  the  antiquarians  declar- 
ing, with  their  usual  fecundity  of  invention,  that  the  Romans 
began  it.  Dugdale  says  Ethelfleda,  daughter  of  Alfred  the 
Great,  was  its  founder,  and  that  Henry  de  Newburg,  a  Nor- 
man, improved  and  added  to  the  fortress.  It  came  into  the 
possession  of  the  Nevilles  by  the  marriage  of  Cicely,  daughter 
of  Richard  Neville,  Earl  of  Salisbury,  to  Henry,  seventh  Earl 
of  Beauchamp.  The  famous  king-maker,  as  the  friend  and 
foe  of  Edward  IV.  was  called,  lived  there.  By  the  marriage 
of  his  daughter  Isabella  to  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  it  passed  to 
the  Plantagenets ;  then  to  the  Dudley  family ;  then  to  that 
of  Rich  ;  then  to  the  Grevilles,  to  whom  the  present  Earl  of 
"Warwick  is  related. 

The  present  walls,  with  the  battlements  and  towers,  are 
certainly  four  or  five  hundred  years  old,  but  the  interior  is 
comparatively  modern.  The  approach  to  the  outer  court  of 
the  Castle,  is  through  a  winding  road  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock, 
draped  with  ivy  and  evergreens.  After  passing  through  it, 
you  are  confronted  by  gray  stone  towers  and  battlements  of 
the  Norman  pattern,  that  seem  as  if  they  might  have  been 
erected  last  year,  so  fresh  do  they  look.  The  grounds  of  the 
inner  court  are  laid  out  in  the  usual  elaborate  but  artificial 
English  style.  You  enter  the  Castle  by  the  great  hall,  where 
you  are  shown  by  a  pompous  servant,  in  anticipation  of  half  a 
crown,  the  reception  and  the  banquet  rooms,  the  chapel,  the  bed 
in  which  Queen  Anne  slept  (I  am  tired  of  seeing  beds  where 


62  ENGLISH  FLUNKEYISM. 

women  have  slept),  the  armory,  containing  suits  of  mail  and 
weapons  of  the  feudal  times,  including  the  helmet,  cuirass,  and 
sword  of  the  King-Maker,  the  helmet  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  the 
dagger  of  Richard  III.,  the  gauntlets  of  Edward  IV.,  and  other 
things  of  historic  interest.  There  are  a  number  of  paintings, 
too,  by  the  old  masters,  nearly  all  of  them  inferior  to  what 
you  see  on  the  Continent.  A  Circe,  by  Guido,  was  the  only 
one  that  impressed  me ;  and  my  unwillingness  to  admire  what 
the  lackey  pointed  out  with  much  more  pride  than  if  he  had 
been  the  original  William  de  Beauchamp  of  the  family,  seemed 
to  disturb  his  equanimity. 

Those  English  flunkeys  amuse  me.  They  think  every- 
body should  be  enthusiastic  over  each  bit  of  marble,  gilding 
and  canvas  that  belongs  to  their  masters.  It  is  very  droll  to 
hear  them  grappling  with  Italian  and  French  names  when 
they  can't  pronounce  their  own  correctly.  They  drop  their 
Ns  religiously  ;  but  they  understand  economy,  for  they  pick 
them  up  and  apply  them  to  all  words  beginning  with  a  vowel, 
so  that  none  of  them  are  lost. 

When  the  Earl  of  Warwick's  servant  told  me  this  or  that  is 
so  and  so,  I  replied,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  know  all  about  it.  I've 
seen  the  original  in  Home,  or  Florence,  or  Dresden ; "  and  to 
his  comments  of  "  That  is  very  fine,  hexceedingly  beautiful," 
etc.,  I  responded,  "  Yes,  very  good ;  but  on  the  Continent 
they  have  better,  of  course."  It  was  a  petty  sort  of  malice ; 
but  the  fellow  was  so  inflated  with  the  idea  of  being  a  noble- 
man's servant,  that  he  sometimes  forgot  himself.  Before  he 
had  conducted  me  half  way  through  the  apartment  he  became 
much  subdued,  and  ceased  to  give  me  his  critical  views  on 
Morelo  and  Dominicko,  as  he  called  Murillo  and  Domenichi- 
no.  When  I  went  away,  he  looked  as  if  I  ought  to  hand  him 
a  sovereign,  inasmuch  as  I  had  not  been  properly  impressed 
by  his  importance  and  his  artistic  taste. 

Guy  of  Warwick  was  a  very  remarkable  person,  as  you 
must  be  aware,  if  you  have  ever  read  the  legends  of  Warwick 
Castle.  The  old  woman  at  the  porter's  lodge  invites  you,  or 
the  shilling  she  sees  in  your  eye,  to  inspect  his  arms,  and  some 


A   SAXON  GIANT.  63 

of  his  relics  which  are  Tinder  her  custody.  She  declares  he 
was  a  Saxon  giant,  nine  and  a  half  feet  high,  and  if  you  would 
give  her  half  a  crown,  she  would  inform  you  he  was  twelve. 

She  showed  me  a  huge  copper  kettle,  in  which,  she  said, 
his  porridge  was  made.  That,  I  pretended  to  understand,  was 
his  tea-cup,  and  remarked  that  he  must  have  been  a  very  good- 
sized  fellow  for  England,  but  that  in  America  a  man  of  ten  feet 
was  below  the  average  height.  She  looked  at  me,  and  ex- 
pressed some  surprise ;  but  observing  that  she  was  taking  my 
altitude,  I  informed  her  I  was  a  dwarf ;  that  for  several  years 
I  exhibited  myself  throughout  the  country,  and  that  I  made 
so  much  money,  I  had  to  come  to  Europe  to  get  rid  of  it. 

The  joke  was  lost.  She  believed  every  word  of  it.  The 
English,  whether  cultivated  or  uncultivated,  rarely  see  a  jest. 

Guy's  Cliff  is  worth  visiting,  because  it  shows  you  how  the 
nobility  of  England  live.  Though  an  ancient  seat,  it  is  now 
used  as  a  country-house  by  a  family  of  distinction,  and  can  be 
seen  during  their  absence.  The  furniture  of  the  most  wealthy 
families  in  Great  Britain  is  very  plain  compared  to  ours. 
They  spend  in  pictures  and  articles  of  virtu  what  we  lavish  in 
showier  things.  Tradition  has  it  that  the  redoubtable  Guy  of 
"Warwick  left  the  Castle,  and  went  there  to  close  his  days  in 
penitence  and  prayer,  while  his  lovely  wife  mourned  him  as 
dead  in  her  baronial  home.  The  truth,  probably,  is  that  she 
was  disagreeable  and  addicted  to  curtain-lectures,  and  that  he, 
not  relishing  them,  shut  himself  up  in  the  Cliff  and  drank  him- 
self into  a  coffin. 

Newstead  Abbey  has  been  greatly  restored  and  beautified 
by  its  present  owner,  a  Mr.  "Webb,  a  man  of  large  fortune  and 
scientific  tastes.  Byron's  apartments  are  kept  as  he  left  them, 
and  have  been  so  much  visited  since  the  late  scandal  that  the 
family  are  much  annoyed.  A  tree  near  the  Abbey  contains 
the  poet's  mother's  name,  and  some  verses  to  her,  cut  with  his 
own  hand.  The  tree  is  more  frequently  looked  at  than  ever, 
but  it  is  not  regarded  as  sentimentally  as  it  used  to  be.  The 
Abbey  is  picturesquely  situated,  but  it  is  so  damp,  owing  to  a 
lake  near  it,  as  to  be  very  unhealthy.     All  the  infants  who 


64 


byron's  apartments. 


have  been  born  there  for  years  have  died,  and  a  superstition 
arose  that  it  was  because  a  skull  of  one  of  Byron's  ancestors 
(he  was  in  the  habit  of  using  it  as  a  tobacco  box)  remained  un- 
buried.  Recently,  the  skull  has  been  put  under  earth,  but  the 
atmosphere  has  not  grown  more  salubrious. 

Byron  was  so  fond  of  being  talked  about  that  he  ought  to 
come  back  now  and  have  his  inordinate  vanity  gratified.  A 
woman  in  Paris  said  when  I  was  there,  "  A  man  who  would 
seduce  his  sister  must  be  so  diabolically  wicked  that  he  could 
not  fail  to  be  interesting." 


*5- 


TOWER    OF    LONDON. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

STKATFOKD-0N-AVON. SHAKESPEARE. 

1/17 CH  as  the  quiet  village  of  Stratford  is  visited,  it 
is  much  less  visited  than  one  would  suppose  from 
the  world-wide  reputation  of  him  who  was  born 
there,  and  with  whom  it  is  always  associated.  It 
might  naturally  be  expected  that  eveiy  train 
would  take  dozens  of  persons  to  the  spot  which  appeals  more 
to  the  intellectual  and  cultivated  of  every  nation  than  any 
other  mental  Mecca  in  either  hemisphere. 

It  is  not  so,  however.  The  English  go  between  Liverpool 
and  London  every  hour,  and  yet  few  take  Stratford  on  their 
way ;  and  even  when  they  pass  through  it,  they  seldom  stop 
to  look  at  the  tomb  of  the  most  marvellous  poet  of  all  time. 
I  have  met  a  number  of  literary  men  in  London  who  have 
never  been  therp,  and  who  probably  never  will  go,  from  the 
fact  that  the  journey  is  so  easily  made.  I  have  seen  Ameri- 
cans, too,  who,  after  travelling  all  over  the  Continent,  visiting 
Egypt  and  the  Orient,  had  failed  to  see  the  slab  that  covers 
the  ashes  of  William  Shakespeare.  The  Americans,  however, 
know  much  more  t>f  the  poet  than  the  English,  who  read  him 
little,  comparatively,  and  seem  to  have  much  less  appreciation 
of  him  than  our  own  people.  From  April  to  the  end  of  Octo- 
ber, quite  as  many  Americans  as  native  Britons  visit  Stratford, 
as  is  shown  by  the  registers  kept  at  the  church  and  the  house 
in  Henley  street. 

I  have  no  doubt  it  will  sound  strange  to  John  Bull  and  his 
brethren,  but  Shakespeare,  to  my  mind,  was  far  more  Ameri- 
can than  English,  and  many  of  his  creations  are  American 
5 


G6 


SHAKESPEARE. 


types.  Hamlet  is  the  exponent  of  a  highly  cultivated,  ex- 
tremely sensitive,  morbid  American,  placed  beyond  the  need 
of  exertion,  tortured  by  ideals,  and  haunted  by  consciousness 
of  indecision.  I  have  known  many  Hamlets ;  indeed,  it  is 
quite  a  common  character  in  this  country.     But  I  have  never 

encountered  a  British  Ham- 


let. 


The  English  seldom  un- 


SHAKESPEAItE. 


derstand  or  admire  the  crea- 
tion. They  consider  Ham- 
let, as  Carlyle  does,  a  mere 
milksop,  who  was  maddest 
when  most  logical. 

Shakespeare's  heroine s, 
many  of  them,  are  rather  of 
the  American  than  English 
type  —  as  Ophelia,  Portia, 
Imogen,  Desdemo  n  a ,  and 
Yiola.  In  fact,  we  have  a 
right  to  the  great  bard  in 
that  he  anticipated  our  de- 
velopment. He  spiritually  belongs  to  us,  for  we'  sympathize 
with,  and  comprehend  him  better  than  the  people  for  whom 
he  wrote.  Shakespeare  is  a  household  word  with  us.  His 
name  is  a  charm,  an  inspiration.  If  I  were  inclined  to  take 
off  my  hat  at  the  mention  of  any  one,  it  would  be  at  the  men- 
tion of  William  Shakespeare,  for  I  regard  him  as  the  Jesus 
of  the  intellectual  world. 

Before  going  to  Stratford  I  had  expected,  to  be  overrun 
with  guides,  offering  their  services,  and  determined  to  show 
me  Anne  Hathaway's  cottage,  if  I  declined  to  accept  their  con- 
duct to  Shakespeare's  tomb  or  his  house.  I  was  very  agree- 
ably disappointed.  No  one  approached  me,  though  many 
knew  me  to  be  a  stranger,  and  probably  conjectured  the  pur- 
pose of  my  visit.  I  went  down  the  first  street,  and,  meeting 
one  of  the  villagers,  I  inquired,  "  Can  you  direct  me  to  Shake- 
.speare's  house?" 
"  Whose  house  ? " 


CHURCH  OX  THE  AVON. 


67 


"  Shakespeare's." 

"  What  Shakespeare  ? " 

"William  Shakespeare." 

"  I  don't  know  any  such  man.  I  don't  think  he  lives  about 
here.  I  was  born  in  this  village,  and  I  never  heard  of  the 
name  of  Shakespeare." 

I  asked  no  more  questions.  I  went  on,  musing  upon  the 
uncertainty  of  fame.  He  who  had  filled  civilization  with  his 
genius,  and  made  English  seem  an  inspired  tongue,  had  not 
reached  the  memory  of  the  rustic  whose  home  was  less  than 
five  hundred  yards  from  where  the  poet  died. 

I  stepped  into  an  ale-house  to  drink  down  my  astonish- 
ment, when  in  came  a  poor  youth  afflicted  with  St.  Vitus' s 
dance,  who  said  he  knew  what  I  wanted,  and  that  he  would 
like  to  "show  me  round";  informing  me  he  had  acted  as 
guide  for  Artemas  "Ward,  Longfellow,  and  Jefferson  Davis. 
I  smiled  at  the  connection,  and 
could  not  resist  the  thought  that 
Stratford  was  so  Shakesperian 
that  the  only  guide  in  it  must 
needs  himself  shake  at  every  word 
he  uttered.  That  was  a  bad  joke, 
in  private,  of  which  I  doubly  re- 
pented when  I  looked  into  the 
unfortunate  fellow's  kindly  face. 
By  way  of  atonement,  I  engaged 
him  at  once,  at  thrice  the  price  he 
asked,  though  I  really  had  no  need 
of  his  guidance. 

When  I  entered  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Trinity,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Avon,  service  had  just  begun ;  so  I  was  obliged  to  wait 
until  it  was  over  before  I  could  look  leisurely  at  Shakespeare's 
tomb.  As  the  service  consisted  merely  of  some  abominable 
readings  in  the  worst  English  accent,  it  was  not  very  interest- 
ing nor  edifying.  I  consoled  myself  with  the  reflection  that 
that  was  the  penalty  I  paid  for  the  satisfaction  of  my  pilgrim- 


STONE  TABLET. 


68  GRAVE   OF  SHAKESPEARE. 

age,  and  so  endured  the  hollow  forms  for  fully  fifteen  minutes, 
counting  by  my  watch — two  hours,  counting  by  my  feelings. 

After  the  prayer  had  been  monotonously  sung,  and  the 
few  worshippers  had  departed,  one  of  the  surpliced  priests  re- 
appeared, in  secular  garb,  and  asked  if  I  wished  to  see  the  slab 
covering  the  remains.  I  replied  affirmatively,  when  he  rolled 
back  the  matting  before  the  chancel,  and  there  I  read  the 
familiar  lines  beginning, 

"  Stranger,  for  Jesus'  sake,  forbear 
To  dig  the  dust  that  is  enclosed  here." 

Shakespeare's  wife,  their  two  children,  and  grandchild  are 
buried  by  his  side,  and  their  graves  are  pointed  out  by  the 
clergymen,  as  they  need  to  be,  since  the  inscriptions  are  bare- 
ly legible.  On  the  wall,  near  the  tablet  and  effigy,  is  a  notice 
to  this  effect :  "  Visitors  are  particularly  requested  not  to  step 
upon  the  slab  covering  the  sacred  ashes  of  the  dead."  I  thought 
that  very  appropriate  until  I  saw,  after  the  handing  of  a  shil- 
ling to  the  priest,  that  he  did  not  avoid  stepping  upon  the  slab, 
nor  did  he  request  me  to  avoid  it. 

The  words  "  until  ■  the  customary  fee  is  paid,"  should  have 
been  added  to  the  notice ;  but  the  phrase,  no  doubt,  is  sup- 
posed to  be  understood.  The  English  complain  of  the  fees 
exacted  on  the  Continent  for  sight-seeking  ;  but  their  country 
is  quite  as  bad  as  Switzerland,  Germany,  or  Italy.  It  does 
seem  to  me  that  if  there  is  any  one  place  that  an  English- 
speaking  person  ought  to  be  privileged  to  behold  without 
draught  on  his  purse  it  is  Shakespeare's  tomb.  The  notice  to 
visitors  is  ingeniously  contrived.  Without  it  persons  would 
look  at  the  effigy  and  tablet  in  the  wall,  and  go  away  conclud- 
ing that  they  had  seen  all  that  is  to  be  seen.  The  notice  cor- 
rects this  error,  and  insures  the  receipt  of  a  shilling.  If  the 
money  so  contributed  might  be  expended  in  giving  the  priests 
who  officiate  in  the  church  a  course  of  elocutionary  lessons,  it 
would  be  well  bestowed.  "Were  I  compelled  to  attend  service 
there,  I'd  gladly  contribute  a  shilling  or  two  every  Sunday  out 
of  regard  for  my  ear,  already  so  deeply  wounded. 


EFFIGY  OF  SHAKESPEARE.  60 

The  effigy  of  the  great  dramatist  is  grotesque.  It  represents 
him  with  a  pen  and  scroll  in  his  hands,  resting  on  a  cushion. 
The  face  is  entirely  wooden,  without  character  or  expression, 
and  recalls  the  blocks  one  sees  in  hair-dealers'  windows,  for  the 
support  and  display  of  wigs.  The  stone  was  whitewashed 
until  nine  years  ago,  when  the  whitewash  was  removed,  and 
the  original  colors  restored,  thereby  making  it  look  worse  than 
before.  I  can  think  of  nothing  that  more  closely  resembles  a 
sign  for  a  tobacconist's  shop,  or  a  rude  carving  of  a  Teutonic 
beer-drinker,  such  as  you  see  sometimes  in  Germany,  than  that 
effigy  of  the  immortal  bard.  How  much  he  has  been  wronged 
facially !  Shakespeare  may  not  have  been  handsome,  in  the 
usual  sense ;  but  the  man  who  could  create  "  Lear,"  "  Macbeth," 
and  "  Othello,"  could  not  have  resembled  a  boiled  carrot  or  a 
coarse  figure  on  a  Dutch  clock. 

With  what  must  have  been  his  intense  love  of  beauty,  I 
should  fancy  his  spirit  might  be  indignant  even  now  at  the 
caricature  of  the  face  that  has  been  for  more  than  two  centu- 
ries put  off  upon  the  world.  But  he  was  too  large  for  that. 
He  never  concerned  himself  even  about  his  wonderful  plays. 
It  is  not  likely  he  would  trouble  himself  in  regard  to  his  pic- 
tures, true  or  false,  especially  in  the  all-satisfying  sphere  in 
which  he  must  be  now. 

The  church  is  a  handsome  gothic  building,  and  its  situation 
on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  its  old  graveyard  and  crumbling 
headstones,  and  its  graceful  spire,  of  modern  construction, 
make  it  very  agreeable  to  visit,  apart  from  the  sacred  ashes  it 
contains.  To  the  sentimental  and  romantic,  its  benches  on  the 
margin  of  the  stream — small  and  sluggish,  but  not  without 
beauty — offer  place  and  inducement  for  reverie  and  contempla- 
tion. I  saw  several  young  women  sitting  there,  evidently 
trying  to  work  themselves  up  to  the  proper  mood.  If  I  had 
been  gallant,  I  might  have  aided  them ;  but,  as  it  was,  I  went 
my  way  in  silence  to  Shakespeare's  house,  in  Henley  street, 
which  is  now  owned  by  the  Shakespearian  Club,  who  pur- 
chased it  a  number  of  years  ago,  and  keep  in  it  a  custodian, 
to  whom  you  pay  sixpence  for  admission.     The  dwelling  seems 


70 


Shakespeare's  home 


rude  enough  now,  but  it  was  thought  very  comfortable,  and 
not  without  pretension,  in  the  poet's  day.  It  is  two  stories 
high,  with  gables  of  oak  frame  filled  with  cement,  and  has 
undergone  very  little  change  since  its  occupation  by  Shake- 
speare's father,  who  was  a  man  of  position  and  property,  hav- 
ing at  one  time  been  the  mayor  of  Stratford.  You  enter  the 
house  through  the  kitchen,  paved  with  common  flags,  and 
ascend  to  the  first  apartment,  in  which  the  poet  was  born.  It 
seemed  very  natural,  devoid  of  reverence  though  I  may  be,  to 
uncover  in  the  rude  room  where  the  poet  of  eternity  first  saw 
the  light.  How  little  his  mother,  whatever  her  maternal  hopes, 
could  have  dreamed  what  the  infant — the  boy  in  the  homely 
chamber — would  become,  and  how,  for  centuries  after,  men  of 
other  climes  would  sail  from  beyond  the  seas  to  bow  before 
the  mighty  genius  which  is  as  fresh  to-day  as  when  it  first 
flashed  into  recognition. 

There  are  seven  or 
eight  rooms  in  the  house, 
j  three  of  them  called  the 
Museum,  for  admission  to 
which  an  additional  six- 
pence is  charged.  The 
Museum  is  interesting,  as 
it  contains  his  seal  ring, 
the  earliest  copies  of  his 
works,  various  illustrated 
editions,  numerous  por- 
traits, or  what  claim  to  be 
such,  and  all  the  Shake- 


MIAKESPEARE  S   HOME. 


spearian  relics  that  could  be  collected. 

Strange  to  say,  not  a  scrap  of  his  manuscript  is  there — not 
even  his  autograph,  nor  a  single  letter,  save  one,  of  the  many 
he  must  have  received.  The  total  disappearance  of  almost 
everything  that  belonged  to,  or  might  have  been  part  of,  the 
man,  is  as  wonderful  as  his  genius.  ~No  marvel  some  persons 
hold  that  such  a  being  never  existed. 

If  there  was  no  Shakespeare,  who  wrote  the  plays  ascribed 


UNPARDONABLE    VANDALISM.  7l 

i 

to  him  ?  That's  the  question  no  one  has  been  able  to  answer, 
fur  the  theories  about  Bacon,  though  specious,  are  not  to  be 
entertained. 

No  human  creature  could  afford  to  forego  the  imperishable 
fame  that  any  one  of  Shakespeare's  dramas  was  certain  to  in- 
sure. The  mythical  Homer,  Dante,  Tasso,  Goethe,  and  all 
the  others  who  have  been  ranked  with  Shakespeare,  pale  before 
his  divine  and  unquenchable  fire. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  the  difference  in  the  pretended  por- 
traits of  the  poet.  Each  artist  who  has  attempted  to  represent 
the  bard,  has  put  his  peculiar  nationality  and  notions  into  the 
picture.  It  is  easy  to  recognize  the  French,  the  German,  and 
the  Italian  schools ;  and  of  the  twenty  portraits,  though  they 
have  something  in  common,  no  two  look  alike.  The  Chandos 
picture,  in  the  National  Gallery  in  London,  is  declared  to  be 
the  best ;  but  I  don't  believe  it  resembles  Shakespeare  closely. 
It  is  more  Italian  or  Spanish  in  appearance  than  it  is  English, 
and  reminds  me  of  some  of  Murillo  or  Yelasquez's  portraits 
in  Madrid.  The  poet  was  not  brunette,  I  fancy,  but  rather 
blond,  more  like  the  picture  that  hangs  in  his  house,  and 
which  belonged  to  the  clerk  of  the  county  for  more  than  a 
hundred  years. 

How  long  Shakespeare  lived  in  the  building  in  Henley 
street  is  unknown,  though  there  is  no  doubt  he  was  born  there, 
and  probably  his  father  before  him.  The  house  in  which  he 
died  was  pulled  down  by  the  Reverend  (?)  Francis  Gastrell, 
because  he  was  annoyed  by  visitors  to  the  place.  What  a 
clerical  old  curmudgeon  he  must  have  been !  Certainly  he 
deserves  to  be  damned  to  everlasting  fame.  Could  anybody 
bora  out  of  England  have  been  guilty  of  such  a  deliberate 
piece  of  hoggishness? 

The  foundation  of  the  house  only  remains,  but  still  attracts 
visitors  to  the  quarter  of  the  village  in  which  it  stands. 

To  Anne  Hathaway's  cottage,  in  Chartery,  I  made  a  pil- 
grimage, and  found  it  a  very  old,  thatched,  humble  abode.  In 
it  is  preserved  the  bench  on  which  Shakespeare  is  said  to  have 
wooed  Anne,  and  the  corner  of  the  fireplace  where  they  sat 


72  ANNE  HATHAWAY'' S   COTTAGE. 

during  the  long  winter  evenings.  "What  wonderful  talk  he 
must  have  poured  into  her  love-greedy  ear !  (I  won't  for  the 
time  accept  the  probability  that  he  was  not  very  fond  of  her.) 
What  a  pity  it  is  some  zealous  reporter  could  not  have  intro- 
duced himself  into  the  closet,  and  put  down  the  magical  sen- 
tences of  tenderness  and  truth !  "We  should  have  found  all 
"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  all  "Cymbeline,"  all  "Hamlet,"  all 
"  Othello,"  flowing  from  his  inspired  lips.  No  wonder  he  won 
Anne,  though  seven  years  his  senior.  '  His  speech  would  have 
won  any  woman. 

The  cottage  at  last  accounts  was  to  be  sold.  The  govern- 
ment, or  some  scholar,  should  buy  it,  that  we  may  all  have  the 
privilege  of  visiting  the  roof  where  lived  and  loved  the  woman 
who  must  ever  arouse  all  our  imagination  when  we  think  she 
was  Shakespeare's  wife. 

Shakespeare's  wife !  "What  new  sweetness  and  beauty  is 
lent  to  the  word  when  we  couple  it  with  his  name,  and  remem- 
ber that  she  saw  his  secret  self,  and  slept  upon  the  heart  for 
whose  faintest  tone  the  world  hungers  after  two  centuries  and 
a  half  of  its  music  forever  hushed ! 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

DESCEjTT    INTO    A    COAL-PIT. 

pJ^AVING  heard,  for  years,  of  the  wretched  and 
¥fr)  unnatural  life  miners  are  compelled  to  lead,  I 
Ip*  determined,  during  my  last  visit  to  England, 
to  make  a  descent  into  some  of  the  pits,  and  judge 
for  myself.  I  was  prepared  for  something  horri- 
ble, for  I  had  been  told,  over  and  again,  that  men 
were  employed  in  the  collieries,  and  women,  too, 
who,  for  weeks  and  months,  never  saw  the  light  of  day  ;  that 
infants  were  often  born  in  the  subterranean  regions,  and,  for 
years  unable  to  see  the  sun,  withered  and  died,  like  plants 
striving  to  grow  in  a  cellar. 

For  a  fortnight  I  tried  to  find  the  deepest  pit  in  England, 
and  soon  learned  that  the  Wearmouth  colliery,  at  Sunderland, 
on  the  coast  of  the  German  Ocean,  twelve  miles  from  Newcas- 
tle-on-Tyne,  was  the  one  that  would  give  me  the  best  (or  worst) 
idea  of  labor  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The  Wearmouth  is — 
with,  perhaps,  one  exception,  the  Duckenfield,  near  Manches- 
ter— the  deepest  colliery  in  England.  It  has  been  worked  for 
forty  years ;  is  nearly  2,000  feet  below  the  surface,  and  has 
three  walls  or  galleries  extending  from  one  and  a  half  to  three 
miles  in  length.  One  of  the  walls  is  dug  under  the  sea,  and 
yields  as  fine  coal  as  either  of  the  others.  It  employs  1,200 
men,  has  two  shafts,  each  with  two  light  tub  cages,  each  tub 
containing  eight  and  a  half  cwts.  of  coal.  The  mine  is  capable 
of  drawing  2,000  tons  each  day,  counted  as  twelve  hours — 
probably  the  largest  yield  of  any  colliery  in  Europe. 

A  singular  history  is  that  of  the  Wearmouth.     Richard 


u 


A   SUCCESSFUL  MONOMANIAC. 


Pemberton,  a  man  of  means,  first  conceived  the  idea  that  coal 
was  to  be  found  on  the  spot.  He  began  operations,  and  soon 
exhausted  his  fortune,  without  finding  coal.  His  friends  en- 
deavored to  dissuade  him  from  pursuing  the  enterprise,  confi- 
dent he  had  made  a  mistake.  He  would  not  listen  to  them : 
he  felt  certain  the  coal  was  there.  His  relatives  were  wealthy, 
and,  inspiring  them  with  his  enthusiasm,  they  at  first  lent  him 
all  the  money  he  asked  for.  Still  he  did  not  succeed.  They 
began  to  be  distrustful ;  but  he,  being  a  man  of  strong  will 
and  much  persuasive  power,  induced  them  to  make  advances, 
until  they  were  literally  bankrupt.  Again  his  friends  impor- 
tuned him  to  desist.  He  would  not  heed  them — seeming  to 
become  more  confident  as  they  grew  more  despondent*.  He 
swore  he  would  dig  down  to  hell  before  he  would  stop ;  that 
if  he  did  not  get  coal,  he  would  find  cinders.  He  was  declared 
crazy,  but  he  still  continued  to  raise  money.  He  would  never 
admit  the  possibility  of  failure ;  but  hope,  so  long  deferred, 
evidently  wore  upon  him.     He  grew  thin  and  haggard,  taciturn 

and  morose ;  and,  naturally  of  a  high  temper,  his  nearest  friends 

were  afraid  to  speak  to  him  of  the  mine,  about  which  they 

believed  he  had  become  a  monomaniac. 

At  last,  one  day  when  he  was  in  Newcastle,  coal  was  reached. 

A  messenger  went 

post-haste     from 

Sunderland    to    in- 
form   him     hastily 

of  the  joyous  news. 

Pemberton  met  the 

messenger    on    the 

bridge      over     the 

Tyne,     and     heard 

the    tidings   as    he 

was  riding  moodily 

along  on  horseback. 

Pemberton' s   cheek 

flushed;     Ins     eye 

flashed  when  the  fact  was   announced.     He  reeled  from  his 


AT  THE  MINE.  75 

seat  and  fell  to  the  ground  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  He  was 
picked  up  insensible.  He  never  spoke  afterward,  and  in  twenty- 
four  hours  was  a  corpse. 

The  glad  news  had  killed  him.  But  all  his  expectations 
of  the  mine  were  realized  after  death.  To-day  his  son  receives 
a  very  large  income  from  the  company  of  capitalists  who  are 
working  the  TVearmouth. 

I  arrived  at  Sunderland  early  in  the  morning,  and  ap- 
plied for  permission  to  go  into  the  mine.  The  superintendent, 
or  chief  viewer,  as  he  is  called,  had  not  arrived.  I  was  obliged 
to  wait  for  an  hour,  and  during  that  time  I  was  about  the 
colliery,  and  saw  the  miners  descending  in  the  cars  to  their 
daily  work.  They  went  down  a  shaft,  out  of  which  the  hot 
air  and  smoke  were  rushing  as  if  from  the  fabled  pit.  The 
blast  was  like  that  from  the  crater  of  Vesuvius,  and  almost 
suffocated  me.  It  was  not  of  a  character  to  encourage  my 
adventure ;  but  I  had  gone  there  to  go  into  the  mine,  and  go 
I  would.  I  returned  to  the  office,  and  found  the  chief  viewer. 
He  was  very  courteous  and  pleasant ;  said  he  was  entirely  will- 
ing I  should  go,  though  he  felt  bound  to  tell  me  that  the  ad- 
venture was  not  without  danger,  adding,  "  Two  gentlemen, 
who  made  a  descent  out  of  curiosity,  were  killed  near  here 
last  week." 

"  If  you  have  no  objection,  I  should  like  to  go." 

"  You  are  not  afraid,  then  ? " 

I  smiled. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  he  said,  looking  at  my  card  before  him, 
"you  are  an  American,  and  a  journalist.  Of  course  you'll 
go,"  and  he  smiled  in  turn. 

Before  going  down,  it  was  necessary  to  put  on  a  miner's 
costume.  I  went  into  an  upper  room  of  the  office,  and  was 
soon  arrayed  in  a  coarse  woollen  shirt,  short  trousers,  a  jacket, 
and  an  old  leather  cap.  Then  arming  myself  with  a  stick  and 
a  safety-lamp,  I  set  out.  I  fancied  I  looked  like  a  pro- 
fessional miner,  barring  my  French  boots;  but  as  I  passed 
through  a  line  of  miners,  smoking  near  the  colliery,  they 
looked  so  pleased  as  I  went  by,  that  I  am  afraid  my  disguise 
was  not  so  complete  as  I  had  supposed. 


T6 


DOWN  THE   SHAFT. 


The  resident  viewer,  who  accompanied  me,  did  not  take 
me  to  the  smoky  shaft,  but  to  another  one,  where  the  air  was 
quite  cool  and  fresh.  We  stepped  into  a  coal-bucket,  and 
whirled  down  in  about  two  minutes  to  the  bottom  of  the  pit. 
The  descent  was  exhilarating,  and  I  enjoyed  it.  It  seemed 
very  dark  at  first,  and  for  a  minute  the  lamps  were  of  little 
service.  I  soon  grew  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and  groped 
along  until  I  reached  a  cabin  to  wait  for  the  coal  cars,  sixty  in 
number,  which  are  drawn  up  and  down  the  gallery  on  a  rail- 
way, by  a  rope  fastened  to  a  wheel  moved  by  an  engine.  The 
ears  arriving,  I  shut  myself  up  like  a  jack-knife  in  one,  and 
was  bumped  along  for  a  mile  over  the  rails  in  six  minutes. 
Then  I  got  out,  and  walked  another  mile  in  a  tunnel  (blasted 
out  of  the  rocks)  not  much  over  three  feet  high,  stepping  aside 

every  few  minutes  to  let  the 
coal  cars,  dragged  by  horses, 
pass,  and  experiencing  some 
difficulty  in  avoiding  being 
run  over.  Considering  the 
narrowmess  of  the  pass,  the 
lowness  of  the  roof,  and  the 
faint  lights,  which  hardly  re- 
lieve the  mine  from  total 
darkness  at  some  points,  it  is  a 
wonder  more  are  not  injured. 
As  it  is,  accidents  from  the  cars  are  nearly  as  numerous  as 
they  are  on  the  Erie  Railway,  somebody  being  killed  or 
wounded  almost  every  week.  For  a  man  troubled  with  lum- 
bago, I  should  not  recommend  the  Wearmouth  colliery  for 
regular  exercise.  It  is  trying  even  for  the  lithe-limbed  and 
supple-backed. 

.  In  half  an  hour  we  reached  the  place  where  the  coal  was 
being  dug  out.  The  galleries  are  ventilated  by  means  of  a 
furnace,  which  rarifies  the  air  near  the  main  shaft ;  but  still 
the  atmosphere  is  hot  and  very  close.  I  don't  perspire  very 
freely ;  but  the  perspiration  poured  down  my  face,  and  I  was 
moist  from  head  to  foot. 


TCNNEL  IN   THE   MINE. 


UNDER    THE  SEA.  11 

There  I  stood,  and  watched  great  muscular  fellows  swing- 
ing their  picks,  and  cutting  out  vast  pieces  of  coal,  which  were 
shovelled  into  the  cars,  and  carried  off  every  few  minutes. 
The  miners  wore  no  clothes,  save  shoes  and  a  breech-clout, 
and  were  so  begrimed  with  coal-dnst  that  they  resembled  ne- 
groes. How  they  did  toil — they  are  paid  by  the  car-load — 
and  perspire,  and  perspire  and  toil,  in  the  black  vaults !  I 
really  pitied  them;  but  they  did  not  seem  to  mind  it.  They 
work  for  six  or  seven  hours,  and  are  then  relieved  by 
fresh  hands.  They  make  very  fair  wages  for  that  country,  and 
their  position,  so  far  from  undesirable,  is  deemed  enviable  by 
thousands  among  the  laboring  classes.  Still,  such  severe  toil, 
far  away  from  the  light  and  the  breeze  of  heaven,  is  unnatural, 
and  must  be  unwholesome.  That  men  can  stand  it  for  a 
long  time,  is  no  argument  in  its  favor.  The  fact  only  proves 
the  vigor  of  their  constitution  and  their  power  of  endurance. 
Occupation  is  good  for  all  of  us ;  but  toil,  call  it  by  what  fine 
name  we  may,  is  an  evil  and  a  curse,  as  much  so  as  war  or 
famine. 

After  watching  the  process  of  getting  out  coal  for  half  an 
hour,  I  went  to  another  part  of  the  mine,  and  finally,  to  the 
end  of  a  gallery  cut  under  the  sea.  It  seemed  singular  that 
the  ocean  should  be  tumbling  over  my  head,  and  ships  sailing, 
perhaps  the  elements  raging ;  yet,  in  the  dark  pit,  there  was 
no  sound  but  the  rumbling  of  the  cars,  the  click  of  the  picks, 
and  the  scrape  of  the  shovels. 

What  a  pleasant  predicament  I  should  have  been  in,  if  old 
Neptune  had  been  inclined  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  pit !  I  tried 
to  get  up  a  sensation  by  indulging  my  imagination,  but  I  could 
not.  The  possibility  was  too  remote  ;  and  then  I  remembered 
that  Plato,  not  Neptune,  has  jurisdiction  over  the  pit.  Con- 
found mythology!  Like  other  knowledge,  it  destroys  most 
of  the  illusions  we  strive  to  cherish. 

The  veins  or  strata  of  coal  in  the  Wearmouth  are  from 
three  to  six  feet  thick.  "When  the  coal  is  taken  out,  tlie  walls 
are  propped  up,  this  being  done  over  night  that  the  miners 
may  work   without  interruption  by  day.     The  stone  above 


<78  LIFE  IN  THE  MINES. 

and  below  the  coal  is  very  hard,  so  that  the  galleries  are  made 
■with  exceeding  difficulty.  The  colliers  never  work  over 
twelve  or  thirteen  hours  at  a  time  ;  those  who  have  hard  labor 
not  more  than  six  or  seven.  They  return  to  the  upper  air  as 
soon  as  their  task  is  over,  and  appear  to  be  strong  and  health- 
ful. Boys  work  in  the  mines  who  are  not  more  than  nine  or 
ten  years  of  age,  and  as  they  rarely  change  their  life,  the  col- 
liery becomes  their  world,  and  a  cheerless,  dreary  world  it  is, 
heaven  knows !  The  resident  viewer  who  accompanied  me, 
now  over  fifty,  told  me  he  began  as  a  boy  of  ten,  and  he  has 
been  in  a  colliery  ever  since.  He  has  risen  as  high  as  a  man 
of  his  class  can.  He  is  healthy  and  vigorous ;  yet  there  is  a 
hardness  and  sadness  in  his  face  and  manner  that  are  the  un- 
mistakable results  of  living  half  his  life  out  of  the  fresh  air  and 
the  sunshine. 

The  stories  about  the  English  mines  have  been  absurdly 
exaggerated.  The  mines  are  not  such  horrible  places  as  we 
have  been  led  to  believe  ;  but  they  are  quite  bad  enough,  I 
should  suppose,  even  for  those  who  think  it  just  that  some 
men  should  be  slaves,  while  others,  no  less  deserving,  enjoy 
the  luxury  of  doing  as  they  choose. 

After,  spending  four  or  five  hours  in  the  deepest  coal- 
cellar  I  had  ever  been  in,  I  concluded  to  go  up  to  the  sky- 
parlor  again.  I  have  an  aversion  to  returning  anywhere  by 
the  same  route  I  have  come ;  so  I  asked  to  make  the  ascent  of 
the  smoky  shaft. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  stand  it,  sir  ?  "  inquired  my  guide. 
"It  is  a  hundred  and  eighty  degrees  there,  and  the  smoke  is 
stifling.     Are  your  lungs  good  and  strong,  sir  ? " 

"  They  are  like  leather.  Some  of  the  miners  go  up  the 
smoky  shaft,  and  I  think  I  can  do  what  they  can." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  sir.  They're  used  to  it.  You're 
not  a  miner,  sir,  if  you  have  got  on  a  miner's  clothes." 

"  Well,  I'm  as  dirty  as  any  miner ;  I'll  wager  a  sovereign 
against  a  shilling  on  that ;  and  I  don't  believe  I  can  suffocate 
through  all  the  layers  of  coal  that  divide  me  from  my  natural 
body." 


ABOVE    GROUND   AGAIN. 


79 


"  You  don't  look  quite  as  trim  as  you  did,  sir,  when  you 
got  out  at  the  station  this  morning." 

"  Let  us  go ;  "  and  we  went. 

I  endured  the  dense  smoke  and  overpowering  heat  for  two 
minutes  very  heroically,  I  thought.  I  breathed  with  difficulty, 
and  my  blood  boiled  in  my  veins  while  ascending  the  shaft. 
But  I  got  out  without  asphyxia  or  congestion,  and  I  relished 
the  journey — it  was  so  peculiarly  disagreeable,  and  because  I 
might  not  have  gotten  out  at  all. 

What  a  spectacle  I  was  in  the  sunlight !  I  looked  as  if  I 
had  been  beaten  through  Tophet  with  a  soot-bag,  and  had  re- 
turned by  the  same  route. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NORTHERN  IRELAND. 

HEN  an  American  goes  to  Ireland  it  seems 
very  much  as  if  he  were  visiting  his  own 
country.  He  sees  the  same  faces,  hears  the 
same  voices,  notices  the  same  peculiarities, 
with  which  he  has  been  familiar  from  his 
childhood.  Barring  the  externals,  Dublin 
becomes  New  York ;  Cork,  Boston ;  Galway,  Cincinnati ;  and 
Limerick,  St.  Louis.  He  does  not  find,  as  he  may  have  ex- 
pected, the  indigenous  Irish  different  from  the  transplanted 
article.  They  have  similar  virtues,  inconsistencies,  and  short- 
comings there  as  here,  proving  the  truth  of  the  old  apothegm, 
"  They  change  their  sky,  and  not  their  mind,  who  cross  the  sea." 
'  This  is  supposing  that  one  enters  Erin  from  the  South, 
which  is  as  unlike  the  North  as  France  is  unlike  Spain,  or 
Germany  unlike  Italy.  Most  of  the  people  of  Northern  Ire- 
land— I  went  there  first — are  far  more  Scotch  than  Irish ;  so 
much  so,  that  in  going  from  Glasgow  to  Belfast,  or  from  Edin- 
burgh to  Londonderry,  one  hardly  perceives  he  has  gotten  into 
another  country.  The  marked  Scotch  element  disappears 
steadily  as  you  move  toward  Leinster,  and,  having  passed  be- 
yond the  line  of  Dundalk  Bay,  the  character  of  the  inhabitants 
undergoes  a  very  sensible  change.  Belfast,  though  the  second 
city  in  population — it  now  has  130,000  souls — is  the  first  in 
point  of  trade  and  manufactures.  Situated  at  the  head  of  a 
fine  bay,  with  its  numerous  and  extensive  linen  factories,  its 
considerable  commerce,  and  various  branches  of  industry,  it  is 
not  strange  that  the  growth  of  the  modern  town  has  been  so 


giant's  causeway.  81 

rapid,  and  its  prosperity  so  remarkable.  It  recalls  Manchester 
and  Liverpool,  though  it  is  cleanlier  and  more  regularly  laid 
out.  In  no  other  Irish  city  is  there  such  excellent  provision 
for  general  education,  and  consequently  idleness  and  crime  are 
little  known.  Many  of  its  linen  establishments  are  so  large 
and  costly,  that,  on  several  occasions  I  mistook  them  for  pal- 
aces— the  word  means  less  abroad  than  with  us.  Men  who, 
twenty  years  ago,  had  nothing,  are  now  millionaires — a  change 
of  circumstances  very  rare  in  Europe.  Several  citizens  of 
Belfast  are  worth,  I  have  been  told,  over  £800,000  or  £900,000, 
and  the  number  of  those  is  large  who  have  annual  incomes  of 
£10,000,  £15,000,  and  £20,000.  These  wealthy  linen  mer- 
chants are  usually  very  intelligent  and  liberal ;  have  comfortable, 
rather  than  luxurious  homes,  and  dispense  wide  and  cordial 
hospitality.  Most  of  their  residences  are  outside  of  the  city, 
where,  as  is  common  in  Great  Britain,  they  spend  upon  their 
grounds  what  we  lavish  upon  furniture  and  fashionable  display. 
Being  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  we  very  naturally  go,  either 
by  water  or  by  land,  to  the  Giant's  Causeway,  with  which  our 
first  geography  made  us  familiar.  Like  most  things  from  which 
we  have  large  expectations,  it  proves  a  disappointment.  I  set 
it  down  as  one  of  the  shams  of  travel  along  with  the  catacombs 
of  Rome,  the  glories  of  the  Rhine,  the  beauty  of  the  Unter  den 
Linden,  the  charm  of  Iiolyrood  Palace,  and  the  perfect  clean- 
liness of  Holland.  It  is  totally  unlike  what  I  had  anticipated. 
Any  one  sailing  along  the  coast  would  fail  to  be  struck  by  the 
so-called  great  natural  curiosity,  and  if  of  a  sceptical  turn, 
would  with  difficulty  be  made  to  believe  it  what  he  had  so 
often  heard  of.  It  is  a  rocky  mole  of  columnar  basalt,  seven 
hundred  feet  long,  but  greatly  varying  in  breadth  and  eleva- 
tion, rising  sometimes  to  a  height  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet.  It  separates  two  little  bays,  called  Port  Ganniary  and 
Port  Noffer,  formed  by  the  windings  of  the  coast.  The  curi- 
ous three-pillared  formation,  known  as  the  Chimney-tops,  looks 
so  much  like  turrets  that  it  is  not  strange  one  of  the  ships  of 
the  Spanish  Armada,  as  is  said,  battered  it  with  shot  for  some 
time,  under  the  delusion  that  it  was  Dunluce  Castle. 
6 


82  CAVERNS  AND   COLUMNS. 

The  impression  the  Causeway  gave  me  was  that  of  a  large 
pier  or  mole  either  in  ruins  or  unfinished.  It  consists,  indeed, 
of  three  piers  projecting  from  the  base  of  the  cliff.  The  pil- 
lars, which  are  of  a  dark  color,  stand  so  close  together  that 
they  seem  to  be  united ;  and  with  their  six,  eight,  and  nine 
sides,  bear  every  appearance  of  having  been  hewn  out  by  hu- 
man skill.  It  is  not  strange  the  tradition  arose  among  the 
natives  that  the  ancient  giants  once  began  to  build  a  causeway 
across  the  channel,  and  were  only  prevented  from  completing 
the  work  by  the  irresistible  valor  of  the  Irish  heroes,  of  whom 
this  country  has  always  been  so  prolific. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  Causeway  are  two  caverns, 
which  admit  small  boats,  and  recall  the  famous  Grotto  of  Capri, 
though  they  are  on  a  much  smaller  scale.  The  roofs  bear  a 
striking  resemblance  to  a  gothic  aisle,  as  they  form  almost  a 
regular  pointed  arch. 

The  Giant's  Gateway  and  the  Giant's  Organ,  both  com- 
posed of  basaltic  columns,  are  seen  behind  us  for  some  distance 
as  we  leave  the  Causeway. 

To  the  east  is  Sea-Gull  Island,  a  broad,  high  rock,  which 
takes  its  name  from  an  immense  number  of  gulls  always  upon 
or  about  it*  I  had  often  wondered,  on  ocean  voyages,  where 
all  the  gulls  came  from ;  but  after  visiting  that  island  my  won- 
derment ceased.  From  the  thousands  of  birds  there  it  must 
be  at  once  the  Mecca  and  the  Eden  of  these  tireless  wanderers. 
The  clamor  of  their  cries  can  be  heard  at  a  long  distance,  and 
is  so  confused  and  varying,  one  might  think  they  were  endeav- 
oring to  reconcile  the  irreconcilable  differences  between  the 
Catholics  and  the  Orangemen. 

Not  far  from  Sea-gull  Island  is  the  remarkable  promontory 
called  the  Pleaskin,  which  many  persons,  myself  among  the 
number,  admire  more  than  the  Causeway  itself.  Its  jutting 
rocks  and  picturesque  cliffs  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  vast 
rambling  castle  partially  battered  down  after  a  fierce  and  pro- 
tracted siege.  In  the  vicinity,  perched  on  a  bleak,  insulated 
rock,  is  Dunseverick  Castle — a  dreary  ruin  in  the  midst  of  an 
impressive  and  oppressive  solitude — once  the  seat,  I  -was  told, 


A    CURIOUS  BRIDGE.  83 

of  the  powerful  and  warlike  O'Kanes,  a  very  distinguished 
aniilv,  whose  descendants,  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  seem 
to  be  unlimited.  The  basaltic  island  of  Kathlin,  six  miles  to 
seaward,  is  crowned  with  the  ruins  of  a  castle  in  which  Kobert 
Bruce  is  said  to  have  taken  refuge  after  his  flight  from  Scot- 
land, nearly  six  centuries  ago. 

Passing  Horseshoe  Harbor,  we  see  in  succession  the  pecu- 
liar-shaped rocks  known  as  the  Lion's  Head,  Bengore  Head, 
the  Twins,  Four  Sisters,  the  Giant's  Pulpit,  and  the  Giant's 
Granny — the  last  of  which,  to  an  active  fancy,  readily  assumes 
the  shape  of  an  old  woman  in  stone. 

The  road  from  the  Causeway  to  Ballycastle  passes  a  chasm 
sixty  or  seventy  feet  wide,  separating  the  little  rocky  island  of 
Carrick-a-Pede  from  the  mainland.  Over  this  cavern,  more 
than  a  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  is  a  foot-bridge  formed  of 
two  cables  about  four  feet  apart,  to  which  rude  planks  are 
lashed,  with  hand-ropes  at  the  sides.  I  have  known  nervous 
persons  to  avoid  making  the  passage  of  this  bridge,  so  slight 
and  insecure  does  it  seem,  particularly  when  the  wind,  very 
apt  to  blow  thereabouts  in  violent  gusts,  sways  the  rude  struc- 
ture irregularly,  and  even  violently.  There  is  really  no  dan- 
ger, however,  as  I  found  by  experience,  and  as  I  might  have 
learned  by  observing  the  fishermen  and  peasants  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, who  cross  and  recross  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and 
night,  whatever  the  weather,  often  bearing  burdens  much 
larger  and  heavier  than  themselves. 

Near  Ballycastle  are  the  ruins  of  a  fortress  built  by 
M'Donnell  of  Dunluce,  as  the  tradition  runs,  more  than  two 
centuries  ago.  The  fortress  is  on  the  summit  of  a  high,  rocky 
promontory  overlooking  the  sea,  and  must  have  been  very 
strong,  both  for  offensive  and  defensive  purposes,  in  the  wild 
and  warlike  days  when  it  obtained  its  renown. 

All  the  north  coast  is  grand,  gloomy,  and  picturesque, 
abounding  in  beetling  promontories,  rugged  cliffs,  and  rocky 
bays,  which  would  furnish  excellent  means  of  escape  for  smug- 
glers or  pirates  who  understood  the  peculiarities  of  that  dan- 
gerous Coast. 


S  4  L  OND  ONDERR  Y. 

The  village  of  Cushendall,  a  few  miles  south  of  Tor  Head, 
tradition  reports  to  be  the  birthplace  of  Ossian,  upon  whose 
actual  existence  many  of  the  Irish  insist,  showing  exceeding 
impatience  and  irritability  toward  any  one  who  undertakes  to 
prove  to  them,  historically  and  logically,  that  the  great  Gaelic 
Homer,  as  they  style  him,  was  purely  a  creation  of  M'Pher- 
son. 

In  the  North,  no  less  than  in  the  South  of  Ireland,  I  saw 
ruins  of  tombs,  and  castles,  and  churches  that  were  associated 
with  the  names  of  famous  heroes,  and  warriors,  and  saints  I 
had  never  heard  of.  I  was  frequently  told  that  I  should  make 
myself  better  acquainted  with  Irish  history — something  I  have 
been  trying  to  do  for  many  years.  The  few  histories  of  that 
peculiar  country,  which  I  have  found,  were  so  much  like  a  com- 
bination of  the  "Chronicles  of  the  Cid"  and  the  "Adventures 
of  Amadis  of  Gaul,"  that  I  could  not  distinguish  facts  or 
truths  in  such  a  twilight  of  fiction.  I  am  afraid,  too,  that  I 
lack  the  faith  and  enthusiasm  necessary  to  a  proper  interpreta- 
tion of  the  multitudinous  legends  with  which  the  land  is  sat- 
urated. If  any  one  wishes  to  know  how  hopelessly  ignorant 
he  is  of  the  most  extraordinary  characters  and  events  of  the 
world,  he  should  go  to  Ireland. 

Londonderry,  or  Deny,  as  it  is  called  over  there,  disap- 
pointed me,  as  it  disappoints  most  persons,  by  reason  of  its 
activity  and  advancement.  I  had  expected  to  find  it  an  old 
and  long-ago  finished  town,  into  which  the  spirit  of  progress 
had  not  entered.  I  supposed  it  something  like  Chester  or 
Carlisle  in  England — interesting  from  its  past  history  rather 
than  from  any  relation  it  bore  to  the  present  or  the  future.  I 
had  quite  forgotten  its  modern  growth,  and  thought  only  of 
the  old  town  within  the  walls  which  withstood  the  memorable 
siege  of  the  forces  of  James  II.  Of  late  years  it  has  improved 
very  rapidly,  the  present  population  being  little  less  than 
thirty  thousand.  Though  a  small  place  at  the  time  of  the  fa- 
mous siege,  the  then  residents  of  Derry  must  have  been  ex- 
tremely prolific — a  natural  inference  from  the  fact  that  their 
descendants  are  to  be  found  almost  everywhere,  and  in  partic- 


GUNPOWDER  EXPLOSION.  85 

ular  abundance  in  our  own  country.  In  any  of  the  States, 
north,  south,  east,  or  west,  I  have  hardly  met  any  one  of 
Scotch-Irish  extraction  who  has  not  told  me  some  of  his  an- 
cestors fought  and  displayed  great  heroism  at  Londonderry.  I 
forget  the  number  of  casualties  on  the  side  of  the  defenders ; 
but  they  must  have  been  few,  inasmuch  as  so  many  survivors 
seem  to  have  given  their  time  and  energy  to  the  benefit  of 
posterity.  Derry's  situation,  on  a  steep  hill,  not  unlike  that 
of  Lisbon,  is  striking  and  picturesque  from  the  right  bank 
of  the  river  (Foyle),  though  its  abrupt  ascents  make  riding 
tedious,  and  walking  an  exercise  too  energetic  for  quiet  enjoy- 
ment. There,  as  everywhere  else  in  Ireland,  I  heard  a  great 
deal  of  the  antiquity  of  the  town,  an  Augustinian  abbey  hav- 
ing been  founded  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  more  than  twelve 
centuries  ago,  by  a  saintly  architect  called  Columba. 

In  the  sixteenth  century,  Derry  was  made  a  military  sta- 
tion ;  but  a  terrific  explosion  of  gunpowder  destroyed  both 
the  fort  and  the  town,  and  nearly  everybody  in  them,  and  so 
filled  the  vicinity  with  horror  that  it  was  completely  aban- 
doned for  more  than  forty  years.  Derry  had  just  begun  to 
prosper  in  a  rehabilitated  state,  when  one  of  those  amiable  and 
apocryphal  gentlemen,  for  whom  that  region  has  been  remark- 
able— he  was  of  the  fertile  O'Doherty  family — took  possession 
of  the  fortifications  and  the  town,  reduced  them  to  ashes,  and 
butchered  both  the  soldiers  and  the  inhabitants,  lest  history 
might  do"  him  wrong  by  charging  him  with  an  ungenerous  dis- 
crimination. 

The  old  walls  of  Derry  still  remain,  and,  like  those  of 
York,  have  been  converted  into  a  promenade.  The  gates,  de- 
stroyed at  the  siege  of  1689,  have  been  rebuilt,  and  the  one 
on  the  site  of  that  from  which  the  heroic  garrison  made  its 
first  sortie  is  a  triumphal  arch  in  commemoration  of  the  event, 
and  bears  the  name  of  the  Bishop's  Gate.  A  Doric  column, 
surmounted  by  a  statue  of  the  Rev.  George  Walker,  cele- 
brated for  his  defence  of  the  town  at  the  time  of  the  siege, 
was  erected  in  1828,  at  a  cost  of  £4,200.  In  the  centre  of  the 
city  is  the  Diamond,  a  square  from  which  the  principal  streets 


86  CRUMBLING  RUINS. 

run  at  right  angles  toward  the  ancient  gates.  The  Episcopal 
Palace  stands  where  the  old  abbey  is  presumed  to  have  been. 
The  long,  narrow  bridge  over  the  Eoyle,  on  the  same  plan  as 
the  bridges  at  Waterford  and  "Wexford,  is  the  work  of  an 
American  architect  named  Cox,  who  also  constructed  the  oth- 
ers. The  scenery  about  Derry  is  pleasant  enough,  though  not 
impressive.  The  Yale  of  Faughan  makes  pretensions  to  pic- 
torial beauty,  but  the  hills  that  form  it  are  bleak,  and  the  river 
flowing  through  it  has  little  to  awaken  admiration. 

Going  south,  you  pass  through  Drogheda,  an  ancient  city 
with  numerous  ruins,  more  interesting  to  the  professional  anti- 
quary than  to  the  poco-curante  traveller.  It  boasts  of  the  re- 
mains of  an  Augustinian  priory — founded  by  St.  Patrick,  of 
course — a  Carmelite  convent  of  the  reign  of  Edward  L,  a 
graceful  tower  of  a  Dominican  abbey,  and  various  ecclesiastic 
remains  covered  with  ivy,  tradition,  and  superstition. 

I  was  urged  to  visit  what  were  asserted  to  be  the  magnifi- 
cent ruins  at  Mellifont  and  Monasterboise,  but  I  unhesitatingly 
declined.  There  are  throughout  the  country  so  many  crum- 
bling priories,  shattered  abbeys,  mouldy  round  towers,  each 
having  its  long  and  tedious  story  of  stereotyped  saints  and 
wonderful  warriors,  all  of  whom  seem  to  have  been  native  kings, 
that  I  confess  I  grew  rather  weary  of  them. 

My  memory  of  all  I  heard  in  and  about  Drogheda  is 
rather  confused ;  but,  if  I  remember  rightly,  it  was  something 
of  a  town  before  Damascus  was  dreamed  of.  Antiquity,  I 
repeat,  is  a  striking  peculiarity  of  every  place  in  Ireland,  which 
is  represented  to  have  been  great  and  glorious  before  any  other 
region  was  known.  So  overwhelmingly  in  love  are  the  Hiber- 
nians with  their  country,  that  I  fancy  in  their  secret  hearts 
they  believe  it  had  an  immortal  history  before  the  external 
and  rather  superfluous  entity  known  as  the  Earth  was  created. 
It  sounds  like  a  jest,  but  I  have  actually  been  told  by  sons  of 
the  soil  that  greater  poems  than  the  "Iliad"  or  "Odyssey" 
were  sung  in  the  streets  of  their  forgotten  cities  long  before 
the  era  supposed  to  have  given  birth  to  Homer. 

The  Drogheda  of  to-day  is  wedded  to  fact  and  prose.     It 


BIRTHPLACE   OF  WELLINGTON.  87 

has  numerous  manufactories,  and  not  a  few  tanneries,  brew- 
eries, distilleries,  and  soap-works,  the  aroma  from  the  last  of 
which  is  neither  classic  nor  salubrious. 

I  was  persuaded  to  make  an  excursion  to  the  battle-ground 
where  William  III.  and  the  dethroned  monarch  James  settled 
their  dispute.  A  very  voluble  person  gave  me  a  glowing  de- 
scription of  the  fight,  which  differed  materially  from  the  his- 
toric accounts  I  had  read.  I  understood  him  to  say  he  was 
there  himself;  but  as  the  battle  was  fought  in  1690,  and  as  he 
did  not  look  to  be  more  than  one  hundred  and  forty  years  old, 
I  suppose  that  I  failed  to  comprehend  his  dialect.  One  thing, 
however,  I  recall  distinctly — that  of  all  the  English,  Dutch, 
Flemish,  French,  Scotch,  and  Irish  soldiers  who  were  present, 
the  Irish  did  all  the  hard,  indeed,  the  only  creditable  fighting. 
James  was  beaten,  somehow,  but  it  was  because  he  failed  to 
take  the  counsel  of  his  Celtic  adherents.  At  least,  I  was  so 
informed  by  my  cicerone,  and  I  felt  unwilling  to  doubt  the 
authority  of  an  individual  so  supernaturally  learned. 

To  those  interested  in  localities  associated  with  eminent 
men  it  may  be  worth  while  to  visit  Dangan  Castle,  near  Trim, 
the  early  home,  and,  as  many  assert,  the  birthplace  of  Arthur 
Wellesley,  Duke  of  Wellington.  The  Irish  feel  great  satisfac- 
tion in  claiming  Wellington,  and  not  infrequently  say  that,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  one  of  their  countrymen,  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte would  have  obliterated  England  from  the  map  of  Europe. 

The  Castle  is  a  massive,  inharmonious,  gloomy  structure, 
and  the  bedroom  reputed  to  have  been  occupied  by  the  Duke 
is  cheerless  and  dreary  enough  to  have  given  him  the  night- 
mare. There  was  nothing  interesting  or  lovable  in  his  char- 
acter :  he  was  simply  strong,  stubborn,  and  dutiful ;  and  if  he 
remained  very  long  in  that  old  pile,  it  would  not  be  strange 
if  some  of  its  coldness  and  its  shadow  crept  into  his  inflexible 
soul. 


CHAPTER  X. 


IRELAND. 

ONNEMAIiA — meaning,  in  native  Irish,  bays 
of  the  ocean,  as  I  have  been  informed  (I 
have  never  doubted  anything  told  me  on  the 
Green  Isle) — is  on  the  west  coast,  a  district 
about  thirty  miles  long,  and  eighteen  to  twenty  wide. 
It  is  easy  of  access  from  Galway,  though  to  penetrate 
it  one  must  surrender  the  railway  trains,  and  entrust 
himself  to  cars.  With  their  aid  he  can  see  most  of 
the  scenery  in  three  or  four,  or  at  most  six  days,  with 
time  for  a  fair  amount  of  pedestrianism — something  of  a  task 
in  that  wild  region.  Connemara  abounds  in  lakes,  mountains, 
rivers,  torrents,  pools,  rugged  ridges,  and  brown  moorlands, 
covered  with  bog  and  heath  flowers.  It  is  a  favorite  resort  of 
tourists,  who  believe  it  different  from  anything  else  in  the 
island.  There  is  such  a  savageness  in  the  district  as  one  might 
expect  to  find  at  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the  goats  and 
tawny  children  you  find  there  appear  quite  Arcadian.  The 
scattered  inhabitants  are  primitive  enough  to  have  pleased 
Jean  Jacques.  They  have  rarely  been  twenty  miles  away  from 
the  spot  in  which  they  were  born,  and  have  no  knowledge  of 
any  country  except  Ireland,  which,  in  common  with  many  of 
the  more  cultivated  class,  they  think  the  principal  part  of  the 
globe. 

I  fancied,  in  such  a  remote  and  barren  region,  I  might  have 
gotten  beyond  the  wonder-workings  of  the  historic  O's.  But 
I  erred  egregiously.  The  O's  first  applied  their  initial  to  the 
ownership  of  the  entire  country,  and  then  proceeded  to  aston- 
ish nature  with  their  performances,  as  if  by  regular  contract. 


A    GYPSY  CAMP.  89 

The  ancient  seat  of  the  O'Flahertys  is  declared  to  be  near 
Moycullen  ;  and  not  far  from  Ballinrobe,  on  an  island  in  Lough 
Mark,  I  was  forced  to  listen  to  a  well-worn  tale  of  the  regal 
O'Connors — what  would  I  not  have  given  to  see  an  Irishman 
without  a  drop  of  royal  blood  in  his  veins ! — and  their  occupa- 
tion, in  the  fifteenth  century,  of  a  ruined  castle  before  me.  On 
Clare  Island,  in  Clew  Bay,  a  crumbling  tower,  I  was  assured, 
indicated  the  stronghold  of  Grace  O'Malley,  who,  though 
feminine,  slaughtered  her  foes  with  magnificent  ferocity.  She 
was  such  a  fury  and  fighter,  that  I  think  I  have  seen  some  of 
her  descendants  of  the  same  sex  in  this  country. 

Cony  Abbey  was  mentioned  as  the  place  where  Roderick 
O'Connor,  the  last  of  the  Irish  kings,  retired,  and  died  in  seclu- 
sion. That  was  very  consolatory  to  me ;  for  I  had  supposed 
the  line  to  be  endless,  and  that  I  should  never  hear  the  last  of 
them.  I  was  right.  In  less  than  a  week  after  I  stated  to  a 
citizen  of  Limerick  that  Roderick  O'Connor  was  the  final 
Milesian  gentleman  who  wore  a  crown ;  and  he  told  me  I  was 
seriously  at  fault;  that  the  O'Connors  never  were  royal;  that 
the  only  real  kings  of  Ireland  were  O'Donohues.  As  he  bore 
that  name  himself,  I  supposed  he  knew,  and  let  the  subject 
drop. 

If  there  be  anything  in  which  I  feel  my  total  imbecility,  it 
is  in  respect  to  Irish  history.  Those  who  wish  to  believe  that 
it  is  a  thing  of  unvarying  facts,  must  never  cross  the  Shannon, 
or  even  behold  the  LhTey. 

While  rambling  near  Bray,  I  heard  of  a  gypsy  camp  in  the 
neighborhood.  It  was  the  first  that  had  been  in  the  country 
for  many  years,  and  was  an  object  of  great  interest  to  the 
superstitious  peasantry,  who  pay  liberally  out  of  their  slender 
means  to  have  their  fortunes  told.  All  persons  in  wretched 
circumstances  are  anxious  to  learn  something  of  the  future, 
and  adversity  long  continued  has  an  influence  favorable  to 
superstition.  I  had  been  told  much  of  the  beauty  of  the  wo- 
men and  their  spiritual  insight,  and  never  having  visited  any  of 
the  Zingara  tribe  in  Ireland,  I  wished  to  see  if  they  followed 
the  same  plan  of  deception  as  in  England  and  Spain. 


90  MAKING  A    WISH. 

I  engaged  a  car  and  was  driven  to  the  camp,  composed  of 
about  fifty  men,  women,  and  children,  who  lived  by  dealing  in 
horses,  making  baskets  and  gewgaws,  and  telling  fortunes. 
While  walking  among  the  tents  and  wagons  I  was  noticed  by 
her  they  called  their  Queen.  She  invited  me  into  her  tent,  and, 
sitting  down  on  the  straw,  requested  me  to  do  the  same.  She 
then  urged  me  to  have  my  past  and  future  revealed. 

With  excessive  practicality  I  asked  her  price. 

"Half  a  crown  for  generalities,  and  a  crown  for  particu- 
lars," was  her  answer. 

Telling  her  I  would  have  half  a  crown's  worth,  she  unbut- 
toned my  glove,  drew  it  off,  gazed  intently  at  the  palm  of  my 
hand,  and  began : 

"  You  have  never  done  any  hard  work  "  (I  correct  her  Eng- 
lish as  I  go  along) ;  "  but  you  have  led  an  easy  life.  You  have, 
I  think,  obtained  your  wealth  from  your  wife.  You  are  mar- 
ried, are  you  not  % " 

"  Of  course,"  I  responded. 

'•  I  knew  it ;  I  see  the  lines  of  wedlock  in  your  hand.  You 
have  had  more  than  one  wife ;  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  dozen." 

"  You  are  English,  aren't  you  ? " 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  answer  questions ;  but  I'll  tell  you 
that  I  am  a  Hindoo,  educated  at  Gottingen,  and  a  Florentine 
by  adoption." 

That  was  Chaldaic  to  her,  and  she  fell  into  generalities : 

"  You  won't  break  your  heart  about  women,  fond  as  you 
are  of  marrying  them.  Put  a  gold  coin  into  your  hand  and 
make  a  wish." 

I  dropped  a  half-crown  there,  and  she  took  it  out.  "  You 
will  not  have  your  wish  before  the  end  of  the  next  year."  (I 
had  wished  I  could  get  a  good  breakfast  in  Ireland.)  "  You 
will  be  called  upon  to  sign  a  paper  on  the  10th  of  the  coming 
month,  and  if  you'll  give  me  another  half-crown,  I'll  tell  you 
whether  to  do  it  or  not." 

"  You  are  right,"  I  responded.  "  That  will  be  my  thir- 
teenth marriage  contract.     I  intend  to  sign  it,  by  all  means ; 


IRISH  FAIRS.  91 

/for  marriage  with  wealthy  women  is  the  best  thing  in  the 
world  to  keep  a  man  in  funds." 

"  The  signature  will  decide  your  fate.  Can  I  have  the 
other  half-crown? " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  have  had  information  enough." 

"  I  see,  too,"  continued  the  gypsy,  "you  have  travelled." 

"  Yes,  too  far  to  be  deceived  by  shallow  tricks." 

"Haven't  I  told  you  the  truth?" 

"  Not  a  syllable.  I'll  tell  your  fortune  for  nothing  if  you 
like,  and  make  far  better  guesses  than  yours." 

"I  don't  want  you  to.  What  countryman  are  you?  I'd 
like  to  know  something  of  your  history,  if  I  haven't  told  it." 

"  Some  other  time  maybe  I'll  take  you  into  my  confidence 
but  now  I'm  in  haste,  for  I  am  choking  for  some  water." 

The  Gypsy  Queen  was  not  ill-looking,  having  the  usual 
black  eyes  and  hair  and  swarthy  complexion;  but  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  invest  her  with  romance  or  sentiment, 
for  she  could  not  speak  her  native  language,  and  elegance  was 
not  amona:  her  virtues. 

I  recalled  the  scene  from  "  Contarini  Fleming,"  where  the 
precocious  youth  kissed  the  red  lips  and  turned  away.  I  re- 
peated mentally  the  pretty  verses  of  Bailey : 

"My  gypsy  maid,  my  gypsy  maid, 
I  bless  and  curse  the  day — " 

But  what's  the  use  of  a  man  of  taste  trying  to  become  in- 
terested in  any  woman  who  drops  her  A's  and  aspirates  her 
vowels  ? 

Fairs  in  Ireland  are  not  what  they  once  were.  The  palmy 
days  of  Donny brook,  with  its  head-breaking  and  general 
"shindies,"  have  departed,  and  seem  to  be  regarded  by  a 
large  part  of  the  peasantry  of  Minister  and  Leinster  as  the 
surest  indications  of  the  national  decay.  The  people,  as  they 
really  are,  are  still  seen  to  the  best  advantage  at  the  county 
fairs,  which  are  the  gala-days  of  the  commonalty.  The  great- 
est interest  is^  taken  in  them.  Everybody  goes  to  the  fairs ; 
and  it  is  not  unusual  for  the  peasantry  to  walk  twenty-five  or 


92  LIMERICK. 

thirty  miles  for  the  pleasure  of  being  present.  They  meet 
there  their  friends  and  acquaintances,  many  of  whom  they  see 
nowhere  else ;  so  that  a  fair  is  a  democratic  reunion  of  all  per- 
sons who  have  anything  in  common.  The  high  animal  spirits 
of  the  Irish  are  strikingly  revealed  at  these  annual  gatherings. 
They  chat  and  laugh,  dance  and  drink,  make  love  and  make 
merry,  not  omitting  a  little  fighting — of  course  for,  the  sake  of 
variety — with  the  most  restless  and  perfect  abandon.  An  Irish 
peasant,  with  a  shilling  in  his  pocket,  and  two  or  three  drinks 
under  his  jacket,  smoking  a  pipe  before  the  booth  of  a  fair, 
seems  to  be  the  lightest-hearted,  most  devil-may-care  creature 
on  the  planet. 

From  Galway  to  Limerick  is  a  short  ride.  Limerick,  with 
its  55,000  souls,  ranks  as  the  fourth  Irish  city  in  population 
and  importance,  and  has  of  late  years  improved  materially. 
King  John's  Castle,  built  by  that  monarch  as  a  defence  against 
the  Irish,  has  seven  massive  towers  connected  by  walls  of  im- 
mense thickness,  and  bears  traces  of  the  hard  sieges  it  has  sus- 
tained. The  cathedral  is  noted  for  its  sweet-toned  peal  of  bells, 
of  which  a  story  is  told.  The  bells  were  cast  by  an  Italian,  and 
placed  in  the  campanile  of  a  convent  in  Florence.  He  had  put 
his  heart  into  the  work,  and  believed  his  bells  the  most  melodious 
in  the  world.  During  the  wars  between  Francis  I.  and  Charles 
Y.  he  lost  all  his  sons,  and  his  wife  soon  after  dying  from  excess 
of  grief,  the  Italian  went  to  Mantua,  and  during  his  absence 
the  bells  were  carried  off.  When  he  returned  and  found  them 
gone  he  was  heart-broken,  for  they  were  his  only  consolation. 
He  determined  to  wander  over  the  earth  until  he  recovered 
them ;  and  so,  staff  in  hand,  he  set  out  upon  his  almost  hope- 
less pilgrimage.  One  summer  day,  after  sunset,  in  1559,  as 
the  tale  is  told,  a  gray-haired  man  was  seen  in  a  boat  on  the 
Shannon.  Listless  and  despondent,  he  took  no  notice  of  any- 
thing until  the  bells  of  the  cathedral  pealed  out  on  the  soft 
evening  air.  He  was  young  again.  He  recognized  his  long- 
lost  and  long-sought  bells ;  and,  lifting  his  hands  in  gratitude 
to  Heaven,  his  soul  went  forth  with  a  prayer  on  his  lips. 

Limerick,  as  every  one  knows,  is  famous  for  its  lace — a  fact 


REMINISCENCES   OF  LOLA   MONTEZ.  93 

every  stranger  discovers  from  the  constant  importunities  to 
buy,  whether  in  or  out  of  doors.  It  is  cheap,  but  being  made 
of  cotton,  it  is  not  liked  in  this  country,  and  bears  no  com- 
parison to  the  delicate  linen  fabrics  of  France  and  Belgium. 
They  say  there  that  it  has  often  been  exported,  returned  from 
Mechlin,  and  sold  at  four  times  the  price  it  originally  cost  at 
home — a  good  but  highly  improbable  story. 

Limerick  enjoys  with  Dublin  the  reputation  of  having  the 
prettiest  women  in  Ireland.  It  would  not  be  supposed,  from 
most  of  the  specimens  we  see  here,  that  beauty  was  given  in 
any  dangerous  degree  to  the  daughters  of  Erin;  but  among 
the  cultivated  and  better  classes  in  Leinster  and  Connaught 
many  of  the  women  have  a  delicacy  and  regularity  of  feature 
that  make  good  their  claim  to  personal  loveliness.  Not  a  few 
of  the  Irish  of  the  opposite  sex  look  like  Italians  or  Spaniards ; 
but  the  finest  type  has  large  gray  or  light-hazel  eyes,  brown 
hair,  rather  pale  complexions,  oval  faces,  and  lithe  figures,  with 
a  grace  and  vivacity  of  manner  which,  to  my  mind,  are  more 
American  than  foreign. 

Poor  Lola  Montez  was  a  native  of  Limerick,  with  a  dash 
of  Spanish  blood,  it  is  said.  Persons  still  living  in  that  city 
say  they  remember  her  girlhood,  and  speak  of  her  beauty  and 
kindness  of  heart  as  something  not  to  be  forgotten. 

The  house  in  which  she  was  born  has  been  pointed  out  to 
me — a  rather  dingy  stone  building  in  a  narrow  street. 

I  heard  there  a  different  story  about  her  from  that  usually 
told,  and  I  give  it  as  it  came  to  my  ears.  Her  name  was 
Eugenie  Moncton,  instead  of  Elizabeth  Gilbert.  She  was  the 
illegitimate  daughter  of  a  French  officer  and  an  Irish  widow 
of  position  and  brilliancy,  who  became  attached  to  each  other 
in  Paris.  Her  mother  lived  in  Dublin,  but  went  to  Limerick 
to  conceal  her  condition.  The  child  was  given  to  an  honest 
and  reputable  family  to  rear  as  their  own,  receiving  a  liberal 
sum  for  its  education  and  support.  At  ten  the  little  Eugenie 
was  sent  to  a  convent  in  France,  where  she  displayed  remark- 
able precocity,  and  at  thirteen  was  considered  a  paragon  of 
beauty.     At  fifteen  she  had  formed  a  clandestine  correspon- 


94  THE  LAKES  OF  EILLARNET. 

dence  with  a  Spanish  officer,  who  had  seen  her  while  visiting 
his  sister  at  the  convent.  She  eloped  with  him  to  Madrid, 
and,  after  living  as  his  mistress  for  a  year,  was  deserted  by  him. 
She  then  returned  to  Paris,  where  she  had  numerous  liaisons, 
and  while  travelling  in  Italy  is  reported  to  have  fought  a  duel 
with  an  Italian  Count  and  wounded  him,  because  he  had  in- 
sulted her  in  the  street.  She  had  acquired  various  manly 
accomplishments,  especially  in  the  use  of  arms,  and,  suffering 
from  the  outrage  offered  her  as  a  woman,  she  donned  mascu- 
line attire  the  day  following,  and  threw  a  glass  of  wine  in  the 
face  of  her  insulter  in  one  of  the  fashionable  cafes  of  Milan. 
After  various  adventures  and  intrigues,  she  went  upon  the 
stage,  and  as  an  actress  won  the  heart  of  the  old  King  of  Ba- 
varia. After  that  her  life  became  well  known.  Her  mother 
lost  all  traces  of  her  after  her  elopement,  and  tried  in  vain  to 
find  her.  She  left  five  thousand  pounds  to  Eugenie  in  her 
will,  but  the  sum  was  never  claimed. 

Lola  was  far  from  blameless ;  but  she  was  badly  treated  and 
grossly  slandered.  She  was  more  sinned  against  than  sinning, 
and  had  good  reason  for  hating  men,  though  she  did  not  hate 
them,  who,  from  the  first  to  the  last,  betrayed  and  abused  her. 
She  had,  at  different  periods  of  her  life,  large  sums  of  money, 
which  she  either  gave  away  with  a  prodigal  hand  or  was  rob- 
bed of  by  designing  sharpers.  At  the  close  of  her  checkered 
days,  she  was  so  fleeced  by  men  she  had  benefited  and  confided 
in,  that  she  died  in  poverty  and  want.  She  now  rests  in 
Greenwood,  with  nothing  but  "  Elizabeth  Gilbert,"  inscribed 
on  her  unpretending  tomb.  Few  women  whom  the  world  calls 
wicked,  and  society  ostracizes,  but  can  trace  their  first  wrong- 
doing to  the  perfidy  of  our  sex. 

The  Lakes  of  Killarney  are  the  central  attraction  of  Ire- 
land. No  one  would  think  of  setting  foot  on  the  Green  Isle 
without  "doing"  the  Lakes.  They  are  to  that  country,  in  re- 
spect of  interest,  what  Paris  is  to  France,  or  Pome  to  Italy. 

The  common  way  of  seeing  Ireland  is  to  land  at  Queens- 
town,  dash  by  Cork  to  the  Lakes,  spend  a  day  there,  and  then 
whirl  through  Minister  and  Leinster  to  Dublin ;  and,  after  a 


MOUNTAINS  IN  IRELAND.  95 

few  glimpses  at  the  capital,  cross  tlie  Irish  Sea  for  London. 
Either  this  or  reversing  the  route,  and  taking  ship  at  Queens- 
town,  bound  home. 

Three  days  at  least  are  needed  to  visit  the  Lakes  properly, 
and  five  or  six  may  be  well  spent  upon  them.  If  you  have 
made  your  virgin  journey  abroad,  premeditating  a  regular  tour, 
go  to  Killarney  first,  or,  at  least,  before  you  go  over  to  the 
Continent.  The  Irish  lakes  are  finer  than  the  Scotch,  and  im- 
measurably superior  to  the  English ;  but  after  you  have  become 
acquainted  with  the  lakes  of  Northern  Italy  and  Switzerland, 
the  beautiful  bodies  of  water  in  County  Kerry  will  be  much 
less  than  your  fancy  has  imaged  them.  There  are  three 
lakes  of  Killarney — the  Upper,  Middle,  and  Lower,  though  the 
second  is  rarely  counted  or  regarded  as  distinct  from  the  Low- 
er. Familiarity  with,  Como,  Maggiore,  Geneva,  Lucerne, 
Thun,  Brienz,  Zurich,  and  the  other  Continental  lakes  damp- 
ened any  enthusiasm  I  might  have  had  for  those  of  Kerry. 
Still  I  did  everything  that  was  to  be  done  in  and  about  them 
as  faithfully  as  if  I  had  never  seen  a  bit  of  water  larger  than  a 
duck-pond.  I  even  ascended  Mangerton,  Tore,  and  Carran- 
tual,  the  last  3,414  feet,  being  the  loftiest  mountain  in  Ireland, 
because  it  was  one  of  the  things  laid  down.  But  having  long 
before  measured  all  such  sensations  in  Switzerland,  and  ex- 
hausted them  by  climbing  Mont  Blanc,  the  Hibernian  hillocks 
raised  no  tumult  in  my  breast.  I  visited  the  ruins  of  Aghacloe 
— the  usual  round  tower,  the  cathedral,  and  castle  (hardly 
worth  looking  at),  and  a  cave  near  the  entrance  of  the  gap, 
declared  to  be  of  great  interest  to  archoBologists.  As  I  felt  no 
interest  in  it,  and  as  archaeology  is  not  one  of  my  weaknesses, 
I  presume  the  statement  may  be  true.  The  roof  of  the  cave 
is  formed  of  large  stones  inscribed  with  what  are  called  the 
Ogham  characters.  They  looked  to  me  a  good  deal  like  a  map 
of  Boston ;  so  that,  having  been  informed  they  were  the  written 
language  of  the  Druids,  I  had  no  more  doubt  of  the  fact  than 
I  had  of  most  things  told  me  in  Ireland.  Near  by  is  a  solitary 
hostelry,  kept  by  a  putative  granddaughter  of  the  apocryphal 
Kate  Kearney.     Kate  is  reputed  to  have  been  extremely  love- 


96  NATURAL   CURIOSITIES. 

ly;  but  if  she  were  lovely,  if  she  ever  existed,  and  if  the 
young  woman  I  saw  was  her  daughter's  daughter,  the  young 
woman  is  a  most  striking  illustration  of  the, theory  that  beauty 
is  not  hereditary. 

The  Gap  of  Dunloe  is  a  narrow  gap  between  MacGillicuddy 
Keeks  and  the  Toomies  and  Purple  Mountain.  On  each  side 
craggy  cliffs,  composed  of  large  projecting  rocks,  frown  over  the 
narrow  pathway,  as  if  angry  at  human  intrusion  into  that  wild 
solitude.  In  the  interstices  of  the  rocks  grow  a  few  melancholy 
shrubs,  which,  with  the  dark  ivy  and  luxuriant  heather  there- 
about, add  to  the  effect  of  the  landscape.  A  small,  swift 
stream,  the  Loe,  runs  the  whole  length  of  the  glen,  expanding 
at  different  points  into  pools  dignified  by  the  name  of  lakes. 
The  glen  is  so  contracted  in  one  place  that  the  precipitous 
sides  almost  shut  off  the  narrow  pathway.  Just  beyond  the 
gap  is  the  Black  Valley,  so  called  from  the  shadows  thrown 
across  it  by  the  Reeks,  and  the  color  given  by  the  peat  to  the 
lakes  which  dot  it. 

The  Upper  Lake,  though  the  smallest,  is  considered  by 
many  the  most  beautiful,  because  it  is  nearer  to  the  mountains 
than  the  others,  and  more  studded  with  islands.  A  circuitous 
channel,  connecting  the  Upper  and  Middle  lakes  is  known  as 
the  Long  Range,  and  is  bordered  by  some  very  fine  scenery. 
At  the  entrance  is  Coleman's  Eye,  a  singular  and  picturesque 
promontory,  and  further  on  a  perpendicular  cliff  called  the 
Eagle's  Nest,  so  remarkable  for  its  echoes  that  some  of  the 
guides  declare  that  when  you  cry  out  "  How  do  you  do  ? "  the 
echo  responds,  "  Yery  well,  I  thank  you,  and  won't  you  take 
a  drop  of  whiskey  % "  The  Nest  made  no  such  reply  to  me, 
owing  probably  to  the  fact  that  I  had  no  partiality  for  the  fiery 
liquid  the  natives  are  so  fond  of. 

About  a  mile  beyond  is  the  Old  Weir  Bridge,  an  ancient 
stone  structure  with  two  arches,  through  which  the  boats  are 
swiftly  carried  without  use  of  the  oars.  Below  the  bridge  is  a 
sequestered  and  charming  spot,  called  the  Meeting  of  the 
"Waters  (whether  named  from  Wicklow  or  not  I  cannot  say), 
which  Walter  Scott  praised  highly. 


INNISFALLEN  ISLAND.  97 

The  Middle,  sometimes  called  Tore  Lake,  is  divided  from 
the  Lower  by  Dinish  and  Brickeen  islands,  and  connected  with 
it  by  three  narrow  channels.  It  lacks  the  wildness  of  the  Up- 
per and  the  pictnresqueness  of  the  Lower  Lake ;  but  its  shores 
are  magnificently  wooded,  and  toward  sunset  to  row  through 
it  is  delightful.  The  Lower  Lake,  five  miles  long  (the  whole 
length  of  the  lakes  is  about  eleven  miles)  and  three  broad  in 
the  widest  part,  has  thirty  islands,  the  largest  of  which,  Ross, 
contains  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres.  On  the  island  are  the 
ruins  of  Ross  Castle,  nearly  covered  by  ivy,  built  by  one  of  the 
countless  O'Donoghues,  whose  descendants  lived  there  for 
three  or  four  hundred  years.  The  Castle  has  its  inevitable 
legends.  One  of  them  is  that  a  member  of  the  O'Dono^hue 
family — whether  Michael,  or  Dennis,  or  Patrick,  is  not  stated 
— awakes  from  his  grave-sleep  every  seven  years,  rides  over 
the  lake  at  the  first  flush  of  dawn  on  his  milk-white  steed  to 
the  Castle,  which,  the  moment  he  reaches  it,  is  restored  by 
magic,  and  remains  as  it  was  in  the  fourteenth  century  until 
the  sun  appearing  above  the  woods,  returns  it  to  decay.  The 
Castle  was  the  last  Munster  stronghold  surrendered  to  Crom- 
well. 

Not  far  from  Ross  is  Innisfallen  Island,  near  the  middle  of 
the  lake.  It  seems  to  be  covered  with  an  impervious  wood  ; 
but  after  landing,  I  found  beyond  the  leafy  screen  beautiful 
glades  and  lawns,  embellished  by  thickets  of  flowering  shrubs, 
clumps  of  arbutus,  and  magnificent  trees.  Through  the  open- 
ings of  the  foliage,  I  caught  glimpses  of  the  lake,  its  variegated 
shores,  and  of  the  mountain  peaks,  making  a  panorama  of  ex- 
ceeding beauty.  The  lakes  have  the  peculiarity  of  most  of 
those  in  Europe — winding  like  a  river  through  the  woods  and 
mountains,  and  often  so  landlocked  that  it  appears  impossible 
to  advance,  no  opening  even  large  enough  for  your  little  boat 
being  anywhere  visible. 

!STear  the  village  of  Cloghreen,  two  and  a  half  miles  from 

Killarney,  are  the  ruins  of  Muckross  Abbey,  both  church  and 

monastery  being  kept  in  excellent  condition  by  the  proprietor 

of  the  demesne.     Some  of  the  kings  of  Munster — kings  must 

7 


98  CASCADES. 

i 

have  grown  on  every  bush  in  Ireland — are  said  to  be  buried 
there;  but  as  there  were  so  many  of  those  crowned  and 
sceptred  gentlemen,  I  opine  it  was  not  thought  worth  while  to 
denote  their  resting-place.  The  vault  of  the  McCarthys,  how- 
ever, is  in  the  centre  of  the  choir,  and  marked  by  a  monument 
rudely  sculptured.  In  the  midst  of  the  cloister  is  a  very  aged 
yew,  which  I  was  told  is  the  largest  of  the  kind  in  Ireland.  I 
don't  know  whether  the  shilling  I  paid  was  for  the  tree  or  the 
information,  though  I  suspect  that  if  I  had  given  only  a  six- 
pence, there  would  have  been  larger  trees  in  the  country. 

In  the  vicinity  of  the  lakes  are  numerous  cascades,  of  which 
the  Tore  (between  the  Tore  and  Mangerton  mountains), 
formed  by  two  streams,  tumbles  over  a  broken  ledge  of  rocks, 
and  is  thrown  into  striking  relief  by  the  fir-covered  sides  of  the 
chasm.  The  other  falls  are  more  remarkable  for  their  names, 
such  as  Derricunnihy  and  Esknamucky,  which,  pronounced  in 
the  vernacular,  affected  my  ear  as  if  I  had  been  shot  in  the 
head  by  a  bewildered  alphabet. 

The  annoyances  and  importunities  from  beggars,  pipers, 
guides,  donkey -drivers,  and  vendors  of  everything  you  don't 
want,  mar  very  seriously  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  to  Killamey. 
No  place  approaches  it  in  power  of  excessive  boredom  in  all 
Europe,  except  the  Bernese  Oberland.  The  women,  who  are 
bent  upon  selling  arbutus-wood  and  bog-oak  ornaments,  Limer- 
ick lace  and  mountain  dew  (goat's  milk  and  whiskey),  are  the 
worst  of  all  the  tormentors.  They  follow  you  more  devotedly 
than  Ruth  did  Naomi,  and  stick  to  you  like  poverty  to  a  poet. 
The  chroniclers  of  the  country  take  pains  to  assure  travellers 
that  those  wild  Irish  girls  are  as  impregnable  in  continence  as 
they  are  obnoxious  in  perseverance;  and  I  am  confident  no 
tourist  of  taste  would  seek  to  disprove  the  promises  made  for 
them. 


CHAPTEK  XL 


DUBLIN. 


F  I  had  not  understood  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
Milesian  mind,  and  the  radiant  colors  with  which 
it  invests  all  it  loves,  I  should  have  expected  to 
find  in  Dublin  a  city  of  wondrous  splendor 
and  inexpressible  charm.  IIow  often  have  I 
listened  to  eulogies  of  the  Irish  capital  from  the  lips 
of  its  rhetorical  sons  and  daughters,  until,  taking  coun- 
sel of  my  fancy,  instead  of  my  reason,  it  shone  upon  me 
from  afar,  like  a  divine  dwelling-place,  whither  weary 
and  beauty-starved  souls  might  be  permitted,  as  a  recompense 
for  sufferings  past,  to  journey  and  be  blessed ! 

It  is  almost  superfluous  to  state  that  any  such  dazzling  pre- 
conceptions failed  to  be  realized  on  the  banks  of  the  Liffey. 

Though  Dublin  is  neither  a  commercial  nor  a  manufactur- 
ing city,  its  buildings  have  that  worn  and  dingy  look  which 
marks  towns  entirely  given  over  to  trade.  The  Liffey — its  full 
name  is  Anna  Liffey — divides  the  city  into  nearly  equal  parts, 
is  spanned  by  eight  homely  bridges,  and  is  little  more  inviting 
or  fragrant  than  a  Dutch  canal.  At  low  tide  the  river  reveals 
the  same  lamentable  lack  of  water  that  distinguishes  the  Arno 
in  summer,  and  during  the  warm  months  affects  the  atmos- 
phere in  a  way  that  but  faintly  recalls  the  orange  groves  of 
Sicily,  or  the  rose  gardens  of  Cashmere. 

Dublin  has  large  private  wealth,  but  at  the  same  time  more 
poverty  in  proportion  to  its  population  than  any  city  in  the 
United  Kingdom.  Out  of  nearly  300,000  inhabitants,  one 
eighth  are  said  to  be  paupers,  and  one  quarter  to  be  chronic 


100  COMMERCIAL  STAGNATION 

sufferers  from  extreme  poverty.  The  Irish  are  too  light- 
hearted  and  improvident  to  provide  for  the  future ;  yet  most 
of  them  are  glad  to  work  when  they  have  the  opportunity. 
But  there  is  no  employment  for  a  large  number  of  the  people, 
who,  with  a  sort  of  feline  instinct,  attach  themselves  to  places 
regardless  of  surroundings.  And  then  their  fondness  for  rela- 
tives and  friends  is  such  that  nothing  but  the  extremest  need 
and  the  prospect  of  an  early  funeral  will  drive  them  from  the 
familiar  scenes  which  appear  to  have  become  endeared  to  them 
only  through  suffering. 

The  passage  of  the  Union  Act  is  thought  to  have  injured 
Dublin  beyond  recovery,  by  depriving  it  of  a  resident  nobility, 
a  large  body  of  influential  commoners,  and  all  the  dignity  and 
importance  of  a  city  at  once  the  seat  of  government  and  the 
capital  of  an  independent  kingdom.  The  spaciousness  of  the 
Custom-house  seems  to  show  this  ;  for  when  it  was  begun,  in 
1781,  magnificent  ideas  were  entertained  of  the  future  pros- 
perity, financial  and  commercial,  of  the  country. 

Unfortunately,  Dublin  has  very  little  of  the  spirit  of  pub- 
lic enterprise  which  grows  out  of  material  prosperity  and  faith 
in  the  future.  One  hears  complaints  everywhere  of  mercan- 
tile dulness  and  commercial  stagnation,  and  there  seems  no 
hope  of  a  change  for  the  better.  The  capital  grows,  it  is  said ; 
but  rather,  I  suspect,  by  the  force  that  inheres  in  large  cities, 
than  by  any  of  the  ordinary  causes  contributing  to  prosperity. 
The  manufacture  of  poplin,  almost  the  only  one  the  city  has 
left,  has  shown  some  symptoms  of  revival  recently,  but  bears 
no  comparison  to  what  it  once  was,  having  at  its  height,  it 
is  stated,  given  employment  to  thirty  thousand  persons. 

Dublin  is  famous  for  its  hospitality,  and  deservedly.  I 
question  if  any  city  on  the  globe  is  a  more  cordial  and  liberal 
entertainer.  Those  of  its  citizens  who  are  in  good  circum- 
stances regard  hospitality  as  one  of  the  highest  of  social  vir- 
tues. They  feel  a  generous  rivalry  in  outdoing  each  other  in 
the  cause,  and  they  interpret  literally  the  phrase,  that  one  can- 
not do  enough  for  his  friends. 

We  are  accustomed  to  regard  hospitality  from  a  sentimental 


DESTITUTION  OF  ITS  PEOPLE.  101 

point  of  view  ;  but  I  am  afraid  sober  reason  will  compel  us  to 
admit  that  it  springs  from  a  species  of  refined  selfishness.  To 
be  hospitable,  we  must  have  large  leisure  and  abundant  means, 
a  certain  amount  of  vanity  and  love  of  approbation.  These 
are  even  more  necessary  than  sympathy,  warmth  of  feeling,  and 
kindness  of  heart.  The  Dublinites  possess  all  of  these.  There 
is  no  particular  demand  upon  their  time,  and  no  duty  is  so  se- 
rious that  it  cannot  be  set  aside  in  friendship's  service.  They 
experience  unalloyed  pleasure  in  contributing  to  the  pleasure 
of  others,  and  have  the  happy  mixture  of  self-consciousness 
and  benevolence  that  finds  gratification  in  the  flattered  and 
enlightened  egotism  which  passes  in  the  world  under  the  name 
of  gratitude.  Most  strangers  who  make  acquaintances  in  Dub- 
lin, whatever  their  first  impression  of  the  city,  go  away 
with  the  conviction  that  it  is  delightful.  They  see  the  place 
through  the  pleasant  people  they  have  met,  and  their  remem- 
brance of  manifold  favors  puts  a  glamour  on  their  eyes.  I  had 
heard  so  much  of  the  hospitality  of  the  town,  that,  having  a 
fondness  for  seeing  and  doing  things  alone,  and  feeling  an  in- 
clination not  to  spend  more  than  a  year  in  Ireland,  I  was 
afraid  to  deliver  the  letters  of  introduction  with  which  I  had 
been  kindly  furnished. 

I  don't  think  I  have  ever  witnessed  such  destitution  and 
poverty  as  in  the  southwest  portion  of  the  city,  known  as  the 
Liberties,  particularly  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral.  I  had  grown  accustomed  to  wretchedness  and 
squalor  by  roaming  about  Blackwall  and  other  such  localities 
in  London,  but  I  found  that  Patrick  street,  Black  lane,  and 
other  miserable  and  feculent  quarters  of  the  Irish  capital  could 
not  be  visited  without  an  instinctive  shrinking  and  shudder. 
Such  heaps  of  rags,  such  excessive  filth,  such  complete  sur- 
render to  the  lowest  animalism,  such  absolute  abandonment  of 
all  ambition  and  aspiration,  I  have  never  observed  in  the  hu- 
man species.  The  Five  Points  and  St.  Giles's  in  their 
worst  days  were  cheerful,  even  inviting,  compared  to  the  over- 
whelmingly repulsive  want  and  misery  of  Dublin's  outcasts. 
The  chief  cause  of  their  woe  is,  of  course,  intemperance — the 


102  DUBLIN  UNIVERSITY. 

prolific  parent  at  once  of  poverty  and  crime,  especially  in 
Southern  Ireland.  Beside  decayed  and  noisome  habitations, 
in  which  body  and  mind  suffocate,  is  the  ever-present  spirit- 
shop,  where  hideous  creatures,  no  longer  men  and  women, 
buy,  in  hope  of  oblivion,  new  depravity  and  deeper  damnation. 

I  should  imagine  such  wretches  would  be  as  desperate  in 
mind  as  in  circumstances ;  but  they  are  not.  They  indulge  in 
chaff  and  humor,  that  seem  as  incongruous  as  dance-music  in  a 
charnel-house.  This  inextinguishable  elasticity  of  mind  under 
the  most  distressing  and  depressing  phases  is  a  phenomenon 
of  the  Irish  character  I  am  unable  to  understand.  "With 
superabundant  causes  for  losing  faith  in  themselves  and  every- 
body else,  with  quite  enough  to  insure  the  ruin  of  every  earthly 
expectation,  the  Irish  are,  probably,  as  contented  a  nation  as  any 
on  the  sphere.  Nothing  damps  their  ardor;  nothing  chills 
their  spirit ;  nothing  can  take  away  their  unconquerable  hope. 
Behind  Fortune's  darkest  frown  they  detect  a  smile,  and  when 
her  buffets  strike  them  to  the  earth,  they  leap  up  jubilant,  and 
instinctively  fall  into  the  dancing  of  a  jig.  Life  at  its  darkest 
is  a  very  rigadoon  to  them.  When  other  people  drown  and 
hang  themselves,  the  mercurial  Hibernian  borrows  a  pipe, 
whistles  defiance  at  fate,  and  believes  undoubtingly  in  a  bright- 
er to-morrow.  I  have  noticed  more  genuine  gayety  and  over- 
bubbling  enjoyment  among  a  dozen  Irishmen,  without  a  penny 
in  their  pockets,  or  the  prospect  of  getting  one,  than  in  a  com- 
pany of  rarely  fortunate  Americans,  with  a  broad  background 
of  blessings,  who  labored  under  the  delusion  that  they  were 
supremely  happy. 

Dublin  University,  or  Trinity  College,  proved  to  me  the 
pleasantest  and  most  interesting  object  in  the  city.  The  build- 
ings are  rambling  and  inharmonious  ;  but  they  are  well  pre- 
served ;  and  the  park  and  grounds  are  handsomely  and  taste- 
fully laid  out.  The  University  was  founded  by  Queen  Eliza- 
beth as  early  as  1501,  and  still  has  a  wide  reputation  as  a  seat 
of  learning,  though  it  has  materially  declined  during  the  pres- 
ent century.  It  has  been  much  impressed  upon  my  mind 
from  the  fact  that  I  have  never  known  a  freshly  imported  Irish- 


ITS  BUILDIXGS.  103 

man  seeking  a  journalistic  position  in  New  York,  who  had  not 
graduated  there  with  the  highest  honors.  Indeed,  two  of  the 
peculiarities  that  almost  invariably  mark  the  expatriated  Hi- 
bernian who  understands  the  mysteries  of  his  own  autograph, 
are,  so  far  as  my  observation  extends,  that  he  has  received  his 
degree  at  Trinity,  and  been  on  the  staff  of  the  London  Times. 
Presuming  that  the  University,  among  other  branches,  in- 
structs its  students  in  the  art  of  writing  tolerable  English,  and 
holds  no  prejudice  against  beginning  the  name  of  the  Deity 
with  what  printers  term  an  upper-case  letter,  I  have  some- 
times been  inclined  to  doubt  the  correctness  of  the  memory 
of  the  self-declared  alumni  of  the  Dublin  University.  But  on 
reflection,  I  have  concluded  that,  as  often  happens  in  colleges, 
so  much  time  may  have  been  devoted  to  advanced  studies  that 
the  rudiments  have  been  either  forgotten  or  neglected. 

The  buildings  of  Trinity  consist  of  three  spacious  quad- 
rangles, comprising  library,  museum,  observatory,  printing- 
office,  and  the  quarters  of  the  students,  numbering,  during  the 
past  year,  fifteen  or  sixteen  hundred.  The  library  has  a  num- 
ber of  valuable  manuscripts ;  among  others  were  pointed  out 
to  me  a  copy  of  the  Brehon  Laws  and  the  Book  of  Kells  (what- 
ever they  may  be),  and  not  a  few  of  questionable  authenticity. 
In  the  museum  is  a  harp  purporting  to  have  been  the  property 
of  Brian  Boru  or  Boroihnie,  the  most  famed  of  the  native 
kings — a  thorough  Drawcansir  in  prowess — from  whom  seven 
eighths  of  all  the  Irish  now  living  are  lineally  descended. 
Brian  was  a  most  extraordinary  warrior,  altogether  superior 
to  Alexander,  or  Cresar,  or  Napoleon,  and  no  doubt,  but  for  a 
mortal  wound  at  Clontarf,  nearly  eleven  centuries  ago,  would 
have  conquered  the  whole  of  the  then  known  world. 

St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  for  its  present  condition,  is  in- 
debted to  the  liberality  of  the  wealthy  brewer  Guinness,  who 
is  reported  to  have  spent  nearly  £200,000  in  its  restoration. 
In  the  choir,  where  hang  the  tattered  banners  of  the  Knights 
of  St.  Patrick,  are  the  tombs  of  Jonathan  Swift  and  Hester 
Johnson,  the  tender-souled  and  deeply  wronged  Stella,  whom 
the  ecclesiastic  brute  made  famous  in  his  verse.     It  was  like 


104 


NELSON  MONUMENT. 


Swift,  while  writing  of  her  affectionately,  to  treat  her  shame- 
fully. His  relations  to  Stella  and  Vanessa,  and  other  good 
but  over-sentimental  creatures,  seem  to  corroborate, the  cynical 
notion  that  the  worse  men  treat  women,  the  better  they 
are  loved.  The  present  church  is  said  to  occupy  the  site 
of  the  ancient  one,  where  the  always-to-be-heard-of  St.  Pat- 
rick preached  to  the  citizens.  There,  we  are  told,  pagan 
rites  were  performed,  and  there,  too,  was  the  well  from 
which  the  saint  baptized  the  king  and  his  newly  converted 
subjects.  The  service  held  in  St.  Patrick's  has  long  been 
that  of  the  Established  Church;    but  still  the  ignorant  and 

superstitious  Catholics,  who 
dwell  in  extreme  squalor  and 
poverty  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood,  regard  the  spot 
with  utmost  reverence,  and 
mourn  its  "desecration"  much 
more  than  any  misfortune  of 
their  own.  They  gaze  upon 
the  structure  as  they  pass  it, 
with  an  eye  of  dissatisfaction, 
|  and,  no  doubt,  long  for  the 
power  to  raze  it  to  the  ground, 
or,  at  least,  put  an  end  to  its 
heretical  use. 

The  principal  thoroughfare, 
Sackville  street,  is  broad,  but 
not  imposing,  owing  to  an 
architectural  lack  of  corre- 
spondence    with     what     must 


NELSON   MONUMENT. 


have  been  its  original  plan  of  laying  out.  It  is  quite  short, 
and  will  appear  to  more  advantage  when  the  Carlisle  bridge, 
connecting  it  with  Westmoreland  street,  is  replaced  with  a 
new  and  finer  one,  and  such  improvements  are  made  as  will 
render  Grafton,  Westmoreland,  and  Sackville  a  uniform  and 
continuous  thoroughfare. 

The  Nelson  column,  almost  the  only  object  that  fixes  the 


FIGHTING  FOR  PLEASURE.  105 

eye  in  Sackville  street,  is  a  granite  shaft,  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  high  without  the  statue  surmounting  it,  and  ugly 
enough  to  have  been  made  and  erected  in  New  York. 

The  much-praised  public  buildings  of  the  city,  the  Univer- 
sity, the  Bank  of  Ireland,  the  Four  Courts,  the  Castle,  the  Na- 
tional Gallery,  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  Christ  Church,  the 
General  Post-office,  and  others,  are  much  inferior  to  their 
reputation,  and  may  very  soon  be  disposed  of. 

Few  readers  of  Irish  novels  but  have  made  acquaintance  with 
the  Phoenix  (or,  as  it  is  called  by  the  ordinary  autochthones,  Pha- 
neex)  Park,  which  is  to  Dublin  what  the  Common  was  to  Bos- 
ton, or  the  Central  Park  is  to  New  York.  Lever  and  Lover 
have  introduced  the  Phoenix  into  so  many  of  their  romances 
that  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  an  Irish  story,  having  any 
relation  to  society,  could  be  completed  without  its  assistance. 
When  duelling  was  the  fashion,  hot-blooded  Hibernians  had 
their  hostile  meetings  there,  and  numerous  localities  are  pointed 
out  where  hair-triggers  were  brought  into  requisition.  It  is 
stated  that  one,  two,  and  even  three  duels  a  week  were  not  un- 
common in  the  park,  during  a  long  period  of  years.  The 
provocation  was  usually  given  over  wine  at  night,  and  such 
was  the  testy  temper  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  time,  that  they 
were  never  satisfied  to  take  breakfast  before  they  had  ex- 
changed shots.  A  more  pugnacious  race  than  the  Irish  never 
lived ;  and,  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  a  man  was  hardly  consid- 
ered a  genuine  gentleman  and  a  worthy  member  of  fashionable 
society,  who  had  not  been  "  out"  at  least  once.  In  that  day, 
to  be  a  three-bottle  man,  and  to  have  been  a  principal  in  sev- 
eral duels,  was  a  badge  of  distinction  which  the  possession  of 
all  the  virtues  and  the  practice  of  every  benevolence  would 
not  have  conferred.  The  Irish  have  always  seemed  to  me  to 
be  the  only  people  who  really  enjoyed  fighting.  Other  nations 
fight  on  principle,  from  pride,  and  from  various  causes  antag- 
onistic to  inclination ;  but  the  Hibernians  appear  to  have  a  nat- 
ural love  for  physical  as  well  as  mental  strife.  They  are  like 
the  irascible  French  colonel  in  the  play,  whose  affection  was 
best  secured  by  a  passage  at  arms. 


106  PHCUXIX  PARK. 

The  Phoenix  Park  is  really  an  ornament  to  Dublin,  few 
cities  having  so  fine  an  expanse  of  wood  and  water,  hill  and 
dale ;  and  its  seventeen  or  eighteen  hundred  acres  have  been 
so  carefully  cultivated  and  adorned,  that  it  deserves  to  be  con- 
sidered one  of  the  noblest  specimens  of  public  grounds  in  the 
British  Isles.  The  sick  and  invalid  soldiers  of  the  Royal  In- 
firmary may  be  seen  on  fine  days,  crawling  or  limping  about 
in  the  sunshine,  as  you  enter  the  principal  gates  from  Park- 
gate  street,  or  stopping  to  look  at  the  Wellington  Monument 
opposite,  which  has  been  materially  improved  of  late,  without 
redemption,  however,  from  original  deformities.  The  bas- 
reliefs  at  the  base,  commemorating  the  siege  of  Seringapatam, 
by  Kirk,  the  battle  of  "Waterloo,  by  Farrell,  and  the  signing 
of  Catholic  Emancipation,  are  its  best  features,  and  not  with- 
out credit,  artistically.  The  park  receives  its  name  from  a 
column  of  thirty  feet,  surmounted  by  a  phoenix,  which  was 
erected  by  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  while  occupying  the  posi- 
tion of  Lord  Lieutenant.  On  what  is  known  as  the  "  Fifteen 
Acres,"  the  reviews  and  sham-fights  are  held,  which  the  Dub- 
linites,  both  of  high  and  low  degree,  profoundly  delight  in. 
The  town  seems  to  empty  itself  on  such  occasions,  which  are 
thorough  gala  days.  The  fashion,  the  wealth,  and  the  culture, 
no  less  than  the  humility,  the  poverty,  and  the  ignorance,  of 
the  capital,  go  there  then  in  an  indiscriminate  crowd ;  and 
jewelled  fingers  and  embroidered  handkerchiefs  are  commin- 
gled with  soiled  hands  and  nondescript  head-coverings  after 
the  manner  of  an  ideal  democracy. 

From  the  Knockmaroon  gate  an  excellent  view  is  had  of 
the  Lifley,  flowing  at  the  foot  of  high  and  fertile  slopes,  devo- 
ted to  the  cultivation  of  strawberries ;  and  the  public  road 
winding  along  the  river,  and  studded  with  strawberry  stalls 
and  strawberry  markets.  During  the  season,  a  walk  or  ride 
or  drive  to  that  quarter,  to  take  tea,  hot  cake,  and  strawber- 
ries, is  one  of  the  established  recreations  and  recognized  prop- 
er things  to  do  among  the  best  people  of  Dublin.  But  a  visit 
to  the  "  Beds,"  as  they  are  called,  is  not  confined  to  the  fash- 
ionable.    Eveiy  one   who   can   raise   two  or  three  shillings, 


KA  TIOXAL    CONVE  YA  NCES. 


ior 


mounts  a  jaunting-car,  that  peculiar  vehicle  of  Ireland,  and 
drives  there  after  sundown  in  the  exuberant  spirits  characteris- 
tic of  the  nation.  The  jaunting-car,  which  seems  to  strangers 
so  awkward  and  grotesque,  is  well  adapted  to  the  country,  and 
typifies  the  character  of  the  people.  Such  a  rumbling,  tumb- 
ling, breakneck  means  of  transportation  could  not  have  been 
conceived  anywhere  else.  Its  driver,  perched  upon  a  narrow 
seat  in  front,  like  a  ruminating  bird  upon  the  sole  limb  of  a 
blasted  tree — its  two  wheels,  the  seats  on  the  sides  directly 
over  them — its  rattling,  bouncing  motion,  as  inimical  to  grav- 
ity as  to  dyspepsia,  present  a  comical  and  contagiously  exhil- 
arating spectacle  that  it  is  hard  to  resist.  To  retain  either 
dignity  or  serious  reflection  while  riding  about  in  that  style 


PEGGY  ON  HEU   LOW-BACK  CAR. 


is  simply  impossible.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  him- 
self, the  impersonation  of  consequential  solemnity,  would  re- 
lax, and  even  become  jocose  after  a  few  miles  of  such  grotesque 


108 


GLASNEVIN  CEMETERY. 


travelling.  On  a  jaunting-car,  a  man  is  shaken  up  mentally 
as  well  as  corporeally,  and  catches  the  spirit  of  merriment 
and  fun  that  forms  so  great  a  part  of  the  Hibernian  nature. 
It  is  not  strange  the  people  bear  adversity  so  lightly,  and  jest 
and  dance  and  sing  in  the  midst  of  penury,  and  in  the  face  of 
starvation,  when  they  go  bobbing  and  bounding  through  life 
on  the  side  of  a  jaunting-car. 

The  use  of  the  "  low-backed  car,"  upon  which  Peggy  rode 
so  successfully  to  market,  in  the  well-known  and  popular  Irish 
song,  is  confined  exclusively  to  the  Green  Isle. 

Glasnevin,  in  the  northern  suburbs,  is  an  attractive  ceme- 
tery, because  it  is  the  burial-place  of  Hogan  the  sculptor,  Cur- 
ran,  O'Connell,  and  many  other  celebrated  Irishmen.    Curran's 

tomb,  in  the  form  of  a  sar- 
cophagus, is  a  copy  of  an  an- 
cient monument,  and  O'Con- 
nell's  is  surmounted  by  a 
column  one  hundred  and 
seventy  feet  high,  after  the 
model  of  the  famous  round 
towers  on  the  coast  of  Ire- 
and,  whose  use  and  purpose 
have  so  sorely  puzzled  anti- 
quarians. Several  executed 
Fenians  lie  there,  -  with  col- 
-a|  unms  raised  to  their  memory 
by  those  who  regard  them  in 
the  light  of  martyrs.  I  have 
seen  much  emotion  displayed 
by  persons  who  visited  the 
cemetery  only  to  contemplate 
monument  to  daniel  o'connell,  the  Fenian  mountains,  and 
who  repeated  the  "God  bless  Ireland"  inscribed  upon  the 
shafts,  with  a  fervor  indicating  the  belief  that  the  invocation 
would  be  one  day  answered. 

The  theatre  furnishes  opportunity  for  the  study  of  some 
of  the  peculiar  traits  of  Irish  character,  the  minor  theatres  and 


DUBLIN  THEATRES.  109 

the  gallery  being  the  best  for  the  purpose,  as  cultivated  and 
successful  persons  are  usually  conventional  and  uniform  in 
conduct  all  the  world  over. 

I  went  to  the  play-house,  whenever  convenient,  in  all 
the  cities  large  enough  to  support  one,  and  never  neglected 
during  the  evening  to  ascend  to  the  region  of  the  gods.  The 
common  people  have  little  liking  for  what  is  known  as  the  legit- 
imate drama ;  but  they  fairly  revel  in  sensational  melodrama, 
particularly  where  their  impossible  countrymen,  with  whom  our 
stage  has  made  us  so  familiar,  perform  prodigies  of  absurdity 
and  valor.  Such  productions  reveal  their  intense,  impressible, 
and  emotional  nature  in  a  very  remarkable  way.  The  mimic 
show  is  like  a  reality  to  them,  and  they  display  as  much  feel- 
ing over  the  counterfeited  passions  as  if  they  were  burning  in- 
spirations. 

The  Irish  drama  there  is  in  no  manner  different  from  what 
it  is  here.  It  has  the  same  brave,  blundering,  swaggering, 
joking,  gallant,  ultra-patriotic  heroes,  who  love  women  and 
the  bottle  as  they  detest  tyranny  and  the  Saxon,  and  who  al- 
ways extricate  themselves  at  the  end  from  innumerable  diffi- 
culties, and  declaim  about  the  glory  of  Ireland  as  the  curtain 
descends  to  the  music  of  some  national  air.  There  is  always, 
of  course,  the  unvarying  British  spy,  whom  the  Irish  are  per- 
petually discovering  in  their  most  secret  councils,  and  in  all 
their  convocations,  wherever  their  lot  may  be  cast.  He  turns 
up  as  regularly  on  the  Cork,  Dublin,  and  Limerick  stage  as  he 
does  in  ward  meetings  and  Fenian  circles  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic.  "Whenever  he  appears,  he  is  hissed  and  hooted  at  as 
if  he  were  a  veritable  culprit,  and  I  have  seen  apples  and 
oranges  hurled  at  him  when  he  happened  to  play  his  part  with 
any  degree  of  excellence.  I  was  informed  that  one  of  the 
company  of  the  Cork  Theatre,  usually  cast  for  the  character  of 
informer,  became  so  odious  to  the  impetuous  and  unreasoning 
public,  that  he  was  compelled  one  night  to  jump  into  the  river 
to  escape  from  an  infuriated  mob. 

The  gallery  audiences  laugh  and  weep  and  roar  and  swear 
over  what  they  witness  on  the  stage,  and  go  into  such  ecstasies 


110 


GALLERY  AUDIENCES. 


of  sympathy,  indignation,  and  clioler  as  would  not  be  possible 
to  the  most  excitable  throng  at  the  Theatre  Beaumarchais  or 
the  Funambules.  The  fact  that  the  dramas  always  violate 
both  history  and  probability  adds  to  their  charm  for  the  in- 
genuous and  impassioned  people.  In  spite  of  the  valor  and 
the  virtues  of  the  latter,  they  have  neither  nationality  nor  in- 
dependence, and  in  the  strict  distribution  of  poetic  justice  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  performance,  they  have  the  compensa- 
tion through  the  imagination  which  stern  and  stubborn  circum- 
stance denies  to  them  in  the  larger  theatre  of  life. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

IKELAND. 

F  the  wit  and  humor  of  the  Irish,  no  one  who 
sees  them  on  their  native  soil,  can  doubt. 
They  are  the  only  peasantry  in  Europe  who 
can  lay  any  claim  to  qualities  that  are  usually 
reckoned  intellectual.  They  have  more  of 
the  mental  attributes  of  Shakespeare's  clowns — the 
least  natural  of  his  wonderful  creations — than  any  liv- 
ing mortals  unblest  of  education.  The  English,  Scotch, 
German,  Italian,  and  even  French  peasants  are  the 
veriest  clods  in  comparison  with  the  Irish,  who  say  bright  and 
sharp  things  without  effort  or  premeditation.  Their  ready  wit 
and  power  of  repartee  are  extraordinary,  and  improve  as  one 
journeys  toward  the  south.  I  have  frequently  heard  scintilla- , 
tions  from  "gorsoons,"  and  porters,  and  car-drivers  that  would 
have  been  applauded  in  the  Academy,  and  have  created  envy 
in  the  most  exclusive  drawing-rooms.  They  never  lack  for  a 
word  or  a  phrase,  and  have  a  verbal  knack  of  getting  out  of  a 
quandary  peculiarly  their  own,  as  respects  both  the  knack  and 
the  quandary.  It  is  a  common  saw  over  there  that  an  Irish- 
man has  the  privilege  of  speaking  twice ;  and  I  can  see  the 
justice  of  it.  He  first  makes  a  blunder,  as  if  by  design,  and 
then  renders  the  blunder  bright  by  illuminating  it  with  a 
joke. 

I  remember  a  colloquy  like  this,  in  Sackville  street,  be- 
tween an  English  tourist  and  a  car-driver : 

"  I  say,  Pat,  what  are  those  figures  up  there  ? " 
"  An'  shure,  yer  honor,  thim's  the  twilve  apos'les." 


112 


NATIVE   WIT  AND   HUMOR. 


a 


(A) 


|§lW^iS§ 


"  Twelve  apostles,  indeed !     "Why,  there  are  only  four." 
"  Och,  now,  ye  wouldn't  have  thim  all  out  at  once,  would 
ye  ?     That's  the  posht-office,  and  the  rist  is  inside,  yer  honor, 
sortin'  letthers." 

Driving  through  County  Wicklow,  and  commenting  on 
what  seemed  to  be  the  irregularity  of  the  milestones,  my  car- 
man remarked : 

Be  gorrah,  an'  they're  not  milestones  at  all  at  all.    This  is 

a  graveyaird  of  the 
Miles  family,  an' 
there  was  so  miny 
of  thim,  ye  see,  they 
had  n'  t  names  for 
thim  all,  an'  so  they 
numbered  an'  buried 
thim  wheriver  they 
found  a  good  shpot." 
And  his  eye  twink- 
lingly  inquired  if  the 
conceit  were  not 
good  enough  for  a 
drink  of  whiskey  at 
our  first  halting. 

Giving  a  crown 
to  a  bar-maid  at 
Limerick,  for  a  mug 
of  ale,  the  price  of 
which  was  but  threepence,  she  smiled  all  over  her  face,  and 
said : 

"  An'  may  yer  worship  niver  wahnt  for  a  pound  until  I 
give  ye  the  change ;  and  I  wish  ye  sich  luck  that  I  know  ye 
wouldn't  be  afther  askin'  for  a  pinny  of  it." 

Annoyed  by  a  strapping  girl,  who  insisted  on  acting  as 
guide  at  the  Gap  of  Dunloe,  I  gave  her  a  shilling  on  condition 
that  she  would  not  follow  me.  Before  I  had  gone  another  mile 
she  reappeared,  when  I  reminded  her  of  her  promise. 

"  "Will,"  she  replied,  "  I  losht  the  shillin'  that  ye  was  so 


MAT  TE  NIVER  WANT   FOR  A  POUND. 


IRISH  FLATTERY.  113 

goohd  as  to  give  a  poor  gurl  the  loikes  o'  me ;  and  I  thought 
I'd  come  back  to  see  if  ye  hadn't  just  found  it." 

Of  course  I  handed  her  another,  with  the  words,  "  You 
knoM',  Norah,  you  are  not  telling  the  truth ;  but  this  time  you 
must  keep  your  word." 

"  An'  will  ye  make  a  poor  gurl  who's  losht  her  heart  to  ye 
confess  in  yer  viry  face  that  she's  run  two  miles  over  dese  rough 
rocks  to  git  anuther  look  at  yer  han'som'  eyes  ? " 

A  porter  at  a  Galway  hotel  had  with  much  trouble  pre- 
vented an  American's  trunk  from  going  to  Belfast  instead  of 
Queenstown,  and  the  owner  rewarded  him  with  a  sovereign. 
The  shrewd  fellow  held  the  coin  rapturously  in  his  hand  a  few 
moments,  and  then  said  to  the  gentleman,  "  Haven't  ye  a  bit 
o'  shilver  about  ye  ?  Ye  wouldn't  have  me  shpendin'  the  loikes 
o'  this  bayutiful  gould  to  drink  yer  health  wid  ?  Give  me  a 
shillin',  yer  honor,  and  I'll  kape  this  to  remimber  ye  by." 

In  the  Yalley  of  Glendalough,  a  native,  peering  out  from 
one  of  the  ruins  of  the  tiny  Seven  Churches,  accosted  a  guide 
with,  "  Dinnis,  did  ye  come  here  thinkin'  they  was  sayin'  mass 
this  mornin'  ? " 

"  I  might  have  belaved  so,  ye  spalpeen,  if  I  hadn't  sane  the 
divil  lookin'  out  of  the  windy." 

"  What  makes  your  horse  so  slow  ? "  I  asked  one  day  in  the 
Glen  of  the  Downs  of  my  Celtic  Jehu. 

"  It's  out  of  respict  to  the  bayutiful  sanery,  yer  honor ;  he 
wants  ye  to  see  it  all.  An'  thin  he's  an  intilligent  baste,  and 
appreciates  good-  company,  an'  wants  to  kape  ye  in  beloved 
ould  Ireland  as  long  as  he  kin." 

Experience  taught  me  that  if  I  made  complaint  it  was 
altogether  useless  to  try  to  get  an  answer  unflavored  with  what 
the  natives  term  "deludherin'  blarney."  Such  fulsome  and 
transparent  flattery  as  the  Irish  persist  in  pouring  out  upon 
you  soon  grows  extremely  irksome,  and  none  the  less  so  when 
you  know  that  it  is  expected  every  honeyed  falsehood  will  be 
paid  for  in  proportion  to  its  sweetening. 

A  visit  to  Ireland  is  considered  incomplete  unless  the  vis- 
itor take  at  least  a  run  through  County  Wicklow,  called  the 
8 


114  BRAY. 

Switzerland  of  Ireland.  Wicklow  is  lauded  to  the  extreme  of 
hyperbole,  from  Belfast  to  Cork,  and  its  praises  are  sounded 
far  and  wide  in  England.  Americans  who  put  trust  in  the 
highly  colored  accounts  that  may  be  given  them,  will  fail  to 
realize  their  expectations.  The  English,  whose  country  is  little 
more  than  a  highly  cultivated  cabbage  garden,  think  any  land 
superior  to  their  own  in  variety  or  picturesqueness,  wonderful 
to  behold.  So  they  rave  about  Wales,  and  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land, when  travellers  of  experience  find  them  somewhat  tame. 
They  who  are  acquainted  with  Italy  and  Switzerland  will  be 
apt  to  underrate  Ireland,  because  it  is  revealed  to  them  after 
,  much  finer  and  grander  scenery  has  become  familiar.  Wick- 
low should  not  be  named  in  the  same  year  with  the  Zermatt 
Valley  or  the  Bernese  Oberland. 

The  Scalp  is  an  attractive  rocky  defile,  originating,  no 
doubt,  in  some  convulsion  of  nature ;  and  the  Dargle,  a  popu- 
lar place  of  resort,  especially  for  picnic  parties,  presents  many 
inducements  for  ramble  and  rest.  The  river,  rushing  through 
the  rocky  defile,  makes  welcome  music  in  the  summer,  and  the 
ever-green  oaks,  very  abundant  there,  give  grateful  shade. 

Bray  is  an  agreeable  sojourning  place,  and  is  liberally  pat- 
ronized by  the  Dublinites.  Two  or  three  good  hotels  are 
there,  the  largest  of  which  was  built  by  an  Irishman  who 
came  to  this  country  and  made  a  fortune  in  a  few  years.  Re- 
turning home,  he  was  so  affected  by  his  prosperity  that  he 
laid  siege  to  a  distillery  in  the  neighborhood,  and  was  com- 
pelled to  raise  the  siege  on  account  of  a  summons  to  attend 
his  own  funeral. 

One  or  two  waterfalls  that  give  variety  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Bray,  lack  nothing  but  water  to  render  them  attrac- 
tive. 

The  Devil's  Glen,  near  Newrath,  is  about  a  mile  in  length, 
and  traversed  by  the  river  Vartry,  which  sparkles  and  foams 
over  the  rocks  in  a  mildly  romantic  manner. 

The  Vale  of  Avoca,  which  Moore's  verse  has  made  famous, 
has  not  the  beauty  the  poet  painted.  The  renowned  Meeting 
of  the  Waters — or,  rather,  Meetings  of  the  Waters,  for  there 


VALE   OF  AVOCA.  115 

are  two — Moore  also  sang  into  reputation.  The  proper  one  is 
formed  by  the  confluence  of  two  rivers — the  Avonbeg  and  the 
Avonmore — in  a  pleasant  valley,  guarded  by  handsome  hills. 
The  exact  spot  where  Moore  wrote  his  lyric  is  marked  by  a 
slab  and  a  group  of  evergreens.  Sentimental  eyes  have  mois- 
tened over  the  slab,  and  sensitive  beings  have  throbbed  with 
romantic  emotions  at  the  thought  of  the  real  presence  of  the 
Meeting  of  the  Waters,  whether  they  stood  before  one  or 
the  other  of  the  aqueous  conventions.  There  was  a  fierce 
contention  as  to  which  of  the  locations  the  bard  intended  to 
celebrate,  until  he  admitted,  in  a  gush  of  candor,  that  he  did 
not  know  himself,  and  that  he  composed  his  poem  in  a  library 
miles  away  from  the  scenes  that  suggested  his  subject. 

It  is  unkind  to  dash  sentiment  in  this  way ;  but  persons 
who,  in  Mr.  Swiveller's  rhetoric,  insist  on  dropping  the  briny 
at  Tasso's  prison  and  Juliet's  tomb,  in  Fe.rrara  and  Yerona, 
when  the  bard  never  saw  the  former,  and  the  latter  is  known 
to  have  been  a  horse-trough,  must  be  set  right  for  the  vindica- 
tion of  history,  and  in  defence  of  the  lachrymal  ducts. 

Many  bits  of  unknown  scenery  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic 
are  far  superior  to  the  Yale  of  Avoca,  or  the  "  exquisitely 
beautiful  Avondale." 

Not  far  from  Aughrim  is  the  far-famed  Shillelagh  Wood, 
part^of  the  estate  of  the  Earl  of  Fitzwilliam,  which  furnishes 
the  national  weapon  the  Green  Islander  is  so  enamored  of.  It 
is  the  Irishman's  logic — he  calls  its  use  an  argument  with  sticks 
— and  he  applies  it  alike  to  his  friends  and  foes.  "  Arrah, 
now,"  said  a  sturdy  fellow  to  me,  "  we  had  a  daliteful  toime 
doon  in  the  glin  yonder.  We  all  had  our  shticks  wicl  us,  and, 
be  gorrah,  I  knocked  doon  six  of  my  frinds  in  liss  than  a  min- 
ute. It  was  foine  fun,  yer  honor,  and  ye'd  a  bin  glahd  to  be 
theer." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the  descendants  of  Irish  kings,  I 
did  not  regret  my  absence ;  for  I  have  that  anti-Hibernian 
idiosyncrasy  which  makes  pleasure  possible  without  the  intro- 
duction of  a  cudgel  or  a  broken  crown. 

In  the  Yalley  of  Glendalough,  whose  surrounding  moun- 


116  GLENMALURE. 

tains  are  precipitous  and  peculiar  in  shape,  resembling  huge 
rocks,  are  the  Seven  Churches,  called  the  Cathedral,  the  Abbey, 
Trinity,  Our  Lady's,  Christ's,  the  Phefeart,  and  Teampule-na- 
Skillig,  curious  as  specimens  of  early  ecclesiastic  architecture. 
Glendalough  looks  like  fine  landscape  seen  through  an  inverted 
telescope,  so  small  and  dainty  is  it.  The  valley  must  originally 
have  been  tenanted  by  fairies  of  the  Pease-blossom  and  Mus- 
tard-seed pattern  ;  for  no  congregations  composed  of  beings  of 
a  larger  stature  could  have  crowded  into  the  tiny  churches. 
One  average  well-fed  Englishman  would  fill  all  the  space  the 
Cathedral  could  ever  have  contained,  and  any  modern  belle 
who  desired  to  attend  service  in  Trinity,  would  have  been 
obliged  to  leave  much  of  her  raiment  outside. 

The  two  lakes  are  pretty  pools,  belonging  to  such  wild  and 
stormy  bodies  of  water  as  are  seen  in  the  Central  Park.  In 
the  steep,  craggy  face  of  the  mountain,  some  thirty  feet  above 
the  lake,  is  a  small  cave  known  as  Saint  Kevin's  Bed.  Saint 
Kevin,  it  seems,  was  an  anchorite  of  such  ferocious  pudicity 
that  he  hurled  the  beautiful  Kathleen,  who  came  to  keep  him 
compaiiy,  into  the  lake  below — a  story  that  needs  confirma- 
tion, and  which  women  potently  disbelieve. 

Some  seven  miles  from  Pathdrum  is  Glenmalure,  a  wild 
pass,  so  quiet  and  solitary  that,  if  divorced  from  society  and 
wedded  to  nature,  I  might  be  glad  to  dwell  there.  Several 
cascades  are  scattered  through  the  vicinity,  the  most  noticeable 
of  which  is  Phoula-phouca,  formed  by  the  fall  of  the  LifFey, 
after  passing  through  the  Glen  of  Kippure.  The  waters  glide 
in  stillness  to  the  verge  of  the  fall,  and  then  plunge  by  a  series 
of  cataracts — always  provided  the  river  is  in  proper  condition 
— into  the  gulf  below.  This  is  one  of  the  most  famous  cas- 
cades in  Ireland;  but  it  bears  no  more  conrparison  to  the 
Giessbach  in  Switzerland,  than  the  Passaic  Falls  to  Niagara. 
Persons  wishing  quietude  and  gentle  sensations  can  find  them 
in  "Wicklow ;  but  they  should  seek  them  there  before  making 
acquaintance  with  the  Continent. 

Taking  the  midland  Great  "Western  Railway  to  Galway, 
one  passes  through  an  interesting  region  of  country.     He  has 


GAL  WAY.  117 

4 

a  good  view  of  the  ivy-mantled  towers  of  Leixlip  Castle,  and 
can,  if  he  choose,  stop  to  look  at  the  Salmon  Leap  in  the 
LifFey.  Maynooth,  with  its  college  and  castle,  the  ruined 
walls  of  Castle  Carburv,  and  the  hill  of  Carburv,  the  scene  of 
numerous  encounters  between  the  Irish  and  Anglo-Normans, 
are  also  on  the  route.  Pagan  remains,  as  they  are  christened, 
and  decayed  villages  are  scattered  along  the  line.  Ballinasloe, 
remarkable  for  its  great  cattle-fairs,  and  attended  by  people 
from  all  parts  of  Europe,  is  one  of  the  stations.  The  moun- 
tains of  Connemara  are  visible  from  the  railway,  with  the 
usual  proportion  of  demolished  castles  and  obsolete  abbeys. 

At  last  one  reaches  Galway,  the  capital  of  the  West,  and, 
in  point  of  population — it  has  some  20,000 — the  fifth  city  in 
Ireland.  A  few  years  ago  it  was  supposed  that  Galway  would 
become  an  important  commercial  point ;  but  the  failure  of  the 
Lever  line  of  steam-packets,  running  between  there  and  New 
York,  destroyed  all  hope  of  its  commercial  consequence.  It  is 
insisted  on  that  it  is  the  nearest  point  to  the  American  coast ; 
that  it  has  superior  advantages  to  any  port  in  Great  Britain ; 
and  the  withdrawal  of  the  steamers  is  ascribed  by  the  Irish,  as 
are  most  of  their  misfortunes,  to  British  prejudice  and  British 
gold. 

Galway  had  an  active  commerce,  chiefly  with  Spain,  until 
the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  so  great  was  the 
intercommunication  between  the  two  nations  that  traces  of 
Spanish  blood,  costume,  and  architecture  are  still  visible  in  the 
declining  town.  The  wide  entries,  broad  staircases,  and  arched 
gateways  often  recalled  Cadiz,  Malaga,  and  Seville ;  and  the 
sculptured  and  grotesque  adornments  on  the  outside  of  the 
buildings  had  the  Moorish  aspect  that  I  remember  in  Valencia 
and  Granada.  Lynch's  Castle — the  large  warehouse  in  Shop 
street  is  so  denominated — looks  decidedly  Spanish  with  its 
front  of  quaint  and  curious  carvings,  and  might  have  been  trans- 
ported from  the  ancient  quarters  of  Antwerp.  Many  of  the 
inhabitants,  particularly  the  women  of  the  lower  order,  have  the 
dark  eyes,  dark  hair,  and  dark  complexion  that  belong  to  the 
more  southern  races,  leaving  little  room  to  doubt  that  the  Celtic 


118  THE   CLADDAOH. 

blood  of  Hispania  and  Hibernia  now  flows  in  the  same  veins. 
That  like  seeks  like  is  said  to  have  been  very  frequently  shown, 
nearly  two  centuries  ago,  by  the  mutual  attraction  existing  be- 
tween the  Spanish  merchants  and  the  Irish  women.  In  some 
instances  I  saw  the  black  eyes  and  golden  hair  which  Titian, 
Correggio,  and  Guido  so  loved  to  paint,  and  which  was  re- 
garded in  their  time  as  the  ideal  type,  especially  of  Venetian 
beauty.  The  Galway  women  I  encountered  were  of  the  hum- 
bler classes ;  and,  though  not  without  a  kind  of  coarse  comeli- 
ness, did  not  suggest  the  pictures  of  the  Academy  or  the  Ducal 
Palace.  Their  garments  were  rather  southern,  both  in  scanti- 
ness and  color.  They  are  very  fond  of  red  petticoats,  descend- 
ing to  a  few  inches  above  the  ankle,  and  of  wearing  black  and 
blue  cloaks,  which  they  throw  over  the  head,  as  if  they  had 
an  instinct  to  imitate  the  mantilla.  Shoes  arid  stockings  are 
unattainable  luxuries  with  them,  and,  as  they  are  not  fanatical 
in  respect  to  personal  tidiness,  they  lose  some  of  the  picturesque 
effects  they  might  have,  if  made  immaculate  and  transferred  to 
canvas. 

The  Claddagh,  the  fishers'  quarter  near  the  harbor,  is  one 
of  the  attractions  of  Galway.  The  people  inhabiting  and 
called  after  the  quarter  are  curious  and  peculiar  in  all  respects. 
Like  the  denizens  of  New  Haven,  near  Edinburgh,  the  natives 
of  the  Basque  provinces  in  Spain,  and  the  gypsies  everywhere, 
they  preserve  their  own  customs  and  individuality,  and  veiy 
rarely  intermarry  with  any  other  people.  "Without  education, 
or  any  of  the  refinements  of  modern  life,  they  are  far  less  tur- 
bulent and  refractory  than  the  natives  of  Connaught  generally. 
They  have  an  elected  chief,  whom  they  call  king,  and  to  him 
they  refer  all  differences  and  disputes,  so  that  they  are  enabled 
to  get  along  without  the  dissentious  assistance  of  lawyers.  Per- 
sonal quarrels  and  collisions  are  said  to  be  almost  unknown 
among  the  Claddagh,  and  this  is  strong  presumptive  evidence 
that  they  are  a  separate  race  from  the  Irish. 


CHAPTER    Xni. 

MTJNSTER. 

IYE  miles  from  Cork,  which  is  reached  by  rail 
or  by  car,  are  Blarney  and  its  famous  castle. 
The  Cork  cars,  by  the  bye,  are  different  from 
those  in  any  other  part  of  Ireland,  being  small, 
square,  covered  boxes,  with  seats  on  the  side, 
but  not  over  the  wheels,  looking  like  segments  of 
our  own  omnibuses. 

Everybody  knows  that  kissing  the  Blarney  Stone 
is  synonymous  with  a  fluent  and  flattering  tongue,  re- 
gardless of  sincerity.  Every  Irishman  south  of  the  Liffey  is 
popularly  supposed  to  have  enjoyed  the  renowned  osculation ; 
and  though  very  few  have,  to  none  of  them  is  denied  the 
wheedling  gift  it  is  presumed  to  bestow,  any  more  than  that 
derived  from  a  dip  in  the  Shannon,  that  makes  perfect  the 
quality  of  impudence,  or,  as  the  natives  euphemistically  express 
it,  civil  courage.  The  origin  of  the  term  Blarney  and  of  the 
Blarney  Stone  is  told  in  numberless  traditions.  Crofton  Cro- 
ker  states — and  this  is  the  most  plausible  of  all  the  stories — 
that  in  1602,  when  the  Spaniards  were  urging  the  Irish  chief- 
tains to  harass  the  English,  one  Cormach  M'Dermod  Carty, 
who  held  the  castle,  had  concluded  an  armistice  with  the  Lord 
President  on  condition  of  surrendering  it  to  an  English  garri- 
son. Carty  put  off  his  lordship  day  after  day,  with  fair  prom- 
ises and  false  pretexts,  until  the  latter  became  the  laughing- 
stock of  Elizabeth's  Ministers,  and  the  former's  honeyed  and 
delusive  speeches  were  stamped  with  the  title  of  Blarney. 
Father  Pr'out,  in  his  popular  papers,  speaks  of  the  stone  as 


120  THE  BLARNEY  STONE. 

the  palladium  of  Ireland,  and  attempts  to  show,  drolly  enough, 
that  it  was  brought  over  by  the  Phoenician  colony  said  to  have 
peopled  the  island ;  that  the  Syrians  and  Carthaginians,  long 
its  custodians,  gave  rise  to  the  expression  Punica  fides  Syri- 
osque  bilingues,  from  their  labial  devotion  to  the  stone.  He 
adds  that  some  Carthaginian  adventurers,  enamoured  of  the 
relic,  stole  it  and  carried  it  oif  to  Minorca,  and  afterward, 
driven  by  a  storm  into  Cork  harbor,  deposited  it  near  the  pres- 
ent spot.  From  the  same  high  authority  we  learn  that  the 
"  Groves  of  Blarney  "  was  translated  from  the  Greek,  though 
the  well-known  song  was  written  only  seventy  years  ago,  by 
Richard  Milliken,  a  Cork  lawyer,  as  a  burlesque  on  some  dog- 
gerel rhymes  about  Castle  Hyde. 

There  are  several  Blarney  Stones,  and  the  garrulous  old 
woman,  who  has  been,  she  says,  custodian  there  for  forty  years, 
regulates  her  choice  of  the  veritable  Blarney  according  to  the 
visitor's  willingness  and  capacity  to  climb.  She  told  me  first 
that  the  real  stone  had  been  knocked  oif  by  some  "  indacent 
blackgeeards,"  and  was  lying  on  the  ground  near  the  door  I 
entered.  I  informed  her  I  knew  better ;  that  she  had  found 
the  invention  convenient  because  most  persons  preferred  to 
touch  that  stone  with  their  lips  rather  than  take  the  trouble  of 
reaching  the  genuine  one. 

The  great  original  is  at  the  northern  angle  of  the  massive 
donjon,  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  high,  which,  with 
a  lower  and  greatly-decayed  portion  of  the  castle,  is  all  the 
ruin  that  remains.  It  is  some  distance  below  the  summit,  and 
bears  the  inscription,  now  very  dim,  "  Cormach  MacCarthy 
fortis  me  fieri  facit,  a.d.  1446."  If  it  were  very  easy  to  kiss 
the  stone  (is  it  with  women  as  with  it  ?)  perhaps  fewer  per- 
sons would  kiss  it ;  but  as  the  caressing  performance  requires 
that  one  shall  be  held  over  the  parapet  by  the  heels,  I  put  mine 
in  charge  of  my  companion,  fresh  from  Oxford,  who  took  his 
pay  for  his  trouble  by  pronouncing  me  in  Greek  a  simpleton, 
presuming  that  the  classicism  would  either  disarm  the  offence 
or  soften  the  justice  of  the  charge. 

The  old  castle,  covered  with  ivy,  stands  on '  the  side  of  a 


CORK.  121 

steep  limestone  ridge,  rising  from  a  deep  valley  on  the  bank 
of  a  small  river — the  Au-Martin,  which  washes  part  of  the 
base — and  adds  greatly  to  the  interest  and  beauty  of  the  sur- 
rounding landscape.  The  grounds  adjoining  the  castle  are  the 
celebrated  Groves  of  Blarney,  to  which  the  loquacious  gate- 
keeper admits  you  when,  by  his  practical  knowledge  of  physi- 
ognomy, he  discovers  a  shilling  in  your  face.  He  persists  in 
telling  you  the  Groves  are  "  bayutiful,  daliteful,  and  shplen- 
did,"  conscious,  probably,  that  without  his  assistance  you  would 
arrive  at  no  such  conclusion.  The  Groves,  nothing  but  a  thick 
shrubbery  of  laurel-trees,  long  divested  of  the  grottos  and 
rustic  bridges  that  once  adorned  them,  are  only  worth  seeing 
because,  if  you  neglected  them,  you  would  hear  from  somebody 
else  how  much  you  had  missed. 

Cork,  with  a  population  of  nearly  100,000,  ranks  next  to 
Dublin  and  Belfast.  A  large  part  of  the  city  is  built  between  the 
dividing  branches  of  the  Lee.  The  Mall,  Patrick,  George,  and 
the  Grand  Parade  are  the  principal  streets,  but  have  no  archi- 
tectural attractions,  as  the  buildings,  both  public  and  private, 
are  irregular  and  unhandsome.  The  principal  lion  is  the 
Shandon  steeple,  the  spire  of  St.  Anne,  which,  as  the  church 
is  built  on  an  eminence,  is  visible  from  every  part  of  the  city. 
The  steeple  is  composed  of  the  limestone  of  a  demolished 
abbey  and  the  red  sandstone  of  a  ruined  castle,  making  three 
of  the  sides  white,  and  the  remaining  one  red ;  so  that  it  seems 
not  unlike  an  ecclesiastic  barber' s-pole.  Father  Prout's  familiar 
lines, — 

"  The  bells  of  Shandon, 
They  sound  so  grand  on 
The  banks  of  Lee," — 

have  done  more  than  anything  else  to  make  the  church  and 
the  spire  famous. 

The  Queen's  College  is  very  picturesquely  situated  on  a 
height  overlooking  the  river,  and,  looming  out  from  the  midst 
of  trees  growing  down  to  the  edge  of  the  stream  below,  com- 
mands a  magnificent  view. 


122  Q  UEENSTO  WN. 

~No  one  should  fail  to  go  down  the  Lee  to  Queenstown,  a 
distance  of  twelve  miles.  The  Cove  of  Cork  is  renowned  for 
its  beauty,  and  deserves  all  its  reputation.  The  slopes  of  the 
northern  bank  are  crowned  with  terraces  and  villas,  and  be- 
tween the  demesnes  of  Tivoli  and  Feltrim  the  channel  sweeps 
to  the  south,  and  carries  you  by  Dundanion  Castle  and  its 
pleasant  grounds.  On  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  opposite 
the  village  of  Blackrock,  is  the  Ursuline  Convent,  one  of  the 
best  known  institutions  of  its  kind  in  Ireland ;  and  further 
down  is  the  Blackrock  Castle,  built  in  the  gothic  style,  on  pro- 
jecting rocks,  and  completely  commanding  that  part  of  the 
river.  You  also  steam  by  Castle  Mahon,  formerly  the  resi- 
dence of  Lady  Chatterton,  a  writer  of  some  distinction ;  by 
the  town  of  Passage,  to  which  Croker  has  given  lyrical  fame, 
celebrating  in  verse  the  charms  of  its  anonymous  maid ;  by 
the  Giant's  Stairs,  a  name  given  to  some  natural  steps  in  the 
cliff;  by  the  pretty  village  of  Monkstown;  and  by  Rocky 
Island,  which  would  be  well  worth  attention,  if  the  ten  thou- 
sand barrels  of  gunpowder,  usually  stored  in  the  hewn-out 
chambers  of  the  rock,  should  simultaneously  explode. 

Queenstown  is  associated  with  the  emigrants  who  are  con- 
tinually flocking  to  this  country.  I  had  expected  to  find  them 
indulging  in  every  form  of  fantastic  grief  as  they  parted  from 
the  land  they  seem  to  love  so  much,  and  yet  are  so  glad  to 
quit ;  but  they  bore  the  separation  with  due  resignation.  The 
truth  is,  the  emigrants  display  their  grief  and  exhaust  their 
sentiment  of  pathos  when  they  leave  their  immediate  homes. 
At  Tralee,  Limerick,  Kildare,  Kilkenny,  and  other  places,  I 
had  been  the  witness  of  scenes  of  passionate  sorrow  that  at 
first  smote  my  heart.  The  persons  who  were  going  away 
were  accompanied  to  the  stations  by  all  their  relatives  and 
friends  ;  and  such  sobbing  and  weeping,  such  intense  embraces 
and  clasping  of  arms,  such  gesticulations  and  ejaculations,  such 
invocations  to  Heaven,  and  hurling  of  shoes — not  worn,  but 
brought  along  for  the  purpose — it  had  never  before  been  my 
lot  to  witness.  Children,  women,  young  men  and  old,  made 
water-carts  of  themselves,  as  Mr.  Samuel  Weller  would  put  it. 


.  DEPARTURE   OF  EMIGRANTS.  123 

Young  women  threw  themselves  on  the  ground  and  tore  their 
hair,  and  seemed  resolved  to  beat  their  brains  out  against  the 
nearest  wall ;  old  women  wrapped  their  heads  in  the  ragged 
cloaks  they  are  never  without,  and,  swaying  to  and  fro,  uttered 
those  peculiar  wails  and  cries — the  genuine  ulalulu — which 
they  always  employ  as  a  chorus  to  misfortune ;  the  men  kissed 
and  clung  to  each  other  as  a  doting  woman  would  to  her  lover 
on  his  way  to  certain  death ;  and  the  little  children  were  as 
melodramatically  afflicted  as  if  dirt  and  mothers  were  banished 
from  the  world.  Nothing  in  the  direst  woes  of  Verdi's  lyric 
dramas,  even  as  represented  at  the  Grand  Opera,  surpassed  the 
exhibition  of  mental  agony  I  would  have  been  only  too  glad 
to  escape  from.  If  actual  heart-break  be  possible,  it  will  surely 
take  place  among  these  poor  peasants,  I  thought.  Having  on 
several  occasions,  however,  concluded  not  to  take  the  trains  on 
which  the  emigrants  went,  I  discovered  that  those  who  re- 
mained behind  could,  like  the  ultra-sentimental  of  all  nations, 
die  of  grief  without  recourse  to  the  physician,  the  priest,  or  the 
undertaker.  As  the  cars  passed  out  of  sight,  eyes  were  dried, 
hysterics  disappeared,  crushed  souls  were  restored,  and  the 
joyous  sun  again  flashed  through  the  pall  of  sundered  clouds. 
In  fifteen  minutes  the  women  chattered  and  laughed,  the  chil- 
dren made  bog-puddings  (we  call  them  dirt-pies)  and  roared 
with  delight;  while  the  men,  smoking  their  "dudeens,"  and 
draining  the  bottle  to  their  departed  friends,  were  merry  as 
crickets  once  more. 

Then-  sorrow  was  genuine,  but  it  was  not  lasting,  fortu- 
nately, for  it  would  soon  kill  in  such  large  and  strong  doses. 
The  Irish,  especially  the  Southern,  are  supremely  emotional 
and  excitable.  Yery  easily  moved,  they  quickly  react  from 
sorrow,  which  is  not  natural  to  them  as  a  permanent  feeling, 
and  regain  the  state  of  cheerfulness  and  gayety  that  belongs  to 
their  mercurial  temperament.  They  enjoy  the  emotional,  cul- 
tivating rather  than  resisting  it ;  are  happy  in  their  unique 
way,  both  at  wakes  and  weddings,  at  fights  and  funerals,  in 
the  midst  of  penury  and  surrounded  by  abundance. 

It  is  not  strange  the  common  people  want  to   come  to 


124  IRISH  FUTURE  IN  AMERICA. 

America — the  land  of  promise  and  El  Dorado  indeed,  likened 
to  their  own.  Ireland  is  better  to  look  at  than  to  live  in.  An 
artist  may  make  pictures  there,  but  the  laborer  with  difficulty 
earns  his  bread.  Rocks,  and  lakes,  and  mountains,  are  excel- 
lent for  landscape,  but  hard  for  the  tiller  of  the  soil.  Much 
of  Leinster,  Connaught,  and  Munster  is  a  wretched  country, 
and  nearly  all  the  South  is  sterile  and  boggy.  For  miles  and 
miles,  nothing  but  stunted  herbage  and  beds  of  peat,  a  robust 
but  ragged  peasantry,  miserable  hovels,  and  an  air  of  reckless- 
ness and  desolation  on  every  hand,  indifference  and  improvi- 
dence to-day,  and  heedlessness  of  to-morrow.  A  mildew  is  on 
the  land :  it  steadily  declines  and  hopelessly  decays. 

The  Irish,  I  repeat,  ascribe  their  unfortunate  condition  to 
the  English ;  the  English  trace  it  to  their  want  of  knowledge, 
energy,  and  character, — to  superstition,  bigotry,  intemperance, 
and  thriftlessness.  Perhaps  the  truth  lies  between  the  two. 
At  any  rate,  Ireland  is  not  the  kind  of  country  for  the  Irish. 
They  have  not  the  qualities  nor  the  habits  to  develop  a  land 
so  little  favored  by  nature,  and  it  would  seem  that  before  many 
years  the  entire  population  will  be  transferred  to  our  shores. 
The  Irish  future  lies  in  America. 

There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  the  Catholic  Irish  are 
different  from  any  other  people  under  the  sun.  Their  virtues, 
no  less  than  their  vices,  are  their  own,  and  it  is  almost  impossi- ' 
ble  to  judge  them  by  ordinary  rules.  They  defy  analysis  or 
classification,  and  are  as  much  a  mystery  to  themselves  and 
each  other  as  to  external  nations.  Where,  or  under  what  cir- 
cumstances, they  would  succeed  best,  no  one  may  say ;  even 
they  do  not  conjecture  a  future,  which,  with  all  their  boasted 
past,  they  have  never  calmly  considered. 

They  are  told  that  they  suffer  here  by  sticking  to  the 
cities,  instead  of  seeking  the  country  and  making  themselves 
independent ;  but  on  their  own  soil  they  flourish  no  better  in 
the  rural  regions  than  in  the  social  centres.  Their  hovels  are 
the  most  miserable  in  Europe,  and  their  state  the  poorest. 
With  an  earth  floor,  a  rude  chimney,  a  bed  of  peat,  a  wife  and 
a  dozen  children,  a  pound  of  tobacco,  and  a  spirit-shop  not  far 


AN  OPPRESSED  PEOPLE.  125 

away,  without  a  shilling  or  a  prospect,  they  are  easy-minded 
and  happy-go-lucky  to  a  degree  that  no  Anglo-Saxon  can  un- 
derstand. When  we  should  go  mad,  or  blow  our  brains  out 
from  sheer  desperation,  they  will  whistle  and  dance  in  their 
dirt  and  rags,  and  lie  down  to  a  deeper  and  sweeter  sleep,  with 
starvation  and  typhus  in  the  hut,  than  any  one  of  us,  under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances,  would  enjoy  on  a  pillow  of 
fragrant  down. 

I  have  visited  the  principal  cities  and  districts  of  Ireland, 
and  though  I  have  been  pleased  with  it,  it  is  rather  monoto- 
nous, and  the  condition  of  the  country,  and  the  poverty  of  the 
people  make  a  journey  through  its  length  and  breadth  often 
disagreeable — sometimes  painful.  The  southern  Irish  are 
in  an  unfortunate  state.  They  ascribe  all  their  ills  to  England, 
and  seem  to  be  hopeless  of  their  political  future,  which  prom- 
ises better  than  it  has  done  for  generations.  The  much-agitated 
Church  Establishment  has  been  put  at  rest,  and  the  land  ques- 
tion is  assuming  a  more  favorable  shape.  The  friends  and 
advocates  of  the  Government  declare  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Connaught  and  Munster  are  more  dissatisfied  than  ever,  and 
that  the  more  they  receive  the  more  they  demand. 

There  may  be  a  feeling  in  the  minds  of  the  Catholic  Irish 
that  the  soil  belongs  to  them ;  that  the  landlords  are  oppressors 
and  aliens  for  the  most  part,  and  hold  their  privilege  only  by 
force.  This  feeling,  whether  just  or  not,  has  an  evil  influence 
upon  the  land ;  paralyzes  energy ;  destroys  ambition ;  eats  at 
the  public  heart ;  is  an  incurable  canker  far  and  near.  The 
Englishman  and  Catholic  Irishman  are  natural  enemies,  and 
the  difference  in  their  history,  traditions,  aspirations,  and  creeds 
will  be  likely  to  keep  them  such.  What  is  best  for  that  coun- 
try only  time  will  show.  It  is  useless  to  prescribe  for  its 
numerous  ills.  Remedies  have  been  tried  again  and  again, 
and  are  still  being  tried ;  but  the  trouble  is,  the  people  sorely 
disagree  as  to  what  they  need  and  should  have.  Perhaps  the 
wisest  thing  to  say  in  the  present  crisis — that  land  always  has 
a  crisis — is  to  repeat  what  we  hear  so  often  on  both  sides  of 
the  Atlantic — "  God  save  Ireland !  " 


CHAPTEE    XIY. 


THE     FRENCH     CAPITAL. 

r]STE  advantage  in  visiting  Paris  is,  that  if  you 
fail  to  like  it,  you  won't  be  satisfied  anywhere. 
Paris  is  unquestionably  the  gayest*  of  all  capitals, 
with  more  to  amuse  and  interest  than  any  other  city 
on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Science,  art,  literature, 
society,  pleasure,  in  almost  every  form,  are  to  be 
found  and  followed  there ;  and  he  who  suffers  from 
ennui  on  the  Boulevards  is  blase  beyond  healing. 

The  French  capital  may  disappoint  at  first,  and  an  initial 
visit,  when  sight-seeing  is  the  sole  purpose,  may  prove  weari- 
some. I  know  it  was  so  with  me.  Having  but  a  limited  period 
to  devote  to  the  city,  I  was  compelled  to  make  a  business  of 
what  should  have  been  an  entertainment.  The  first  few  days 
passed  very  tolerably.  But  after  doing  the  Louvre  Gallery, 
Notre  Dame,  the  Madeleine,  the  Boulevards,  the  principal 
opera  houses  and  theatres,  the  Mabille,  Chateau  Rouge,  the 
Imperial  Library,  the  Corps  Legislatif,  the  Champs  Elysees, 
and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  I  began  to  be  tired  of  the  treadmill 
round. 

To  a  very  young  man  Paris  is  always  delightful.  Its  walks, 
drives,  amusements,  brilliant  cafes,  demi-monde  and  varied 
excitements,  are  seductive,  fascinating.  But,  when  somewhat 
older,  he  has  ceased  to  dwell  in  mere  externals.  After  he  has 
lost  the  power  to  idealize  the  common  irregularities  of  youth- 
ful experience ;  after  the  glamour  of  freshness  and  fancy  has 
gone,  he  sees  in  Paris  only  a  repetition  of  other  places ;  and 


THE   GRAND  HOTEL.  127 

lacking  intellectual  and  sympathetic  companions,  wearies  of 
the  charming  city  in  a  week. 

It  has  been  said,  that  when  good  Americans  die  they  go  to 
Paris ;  but  they  go  in  crowds ;  otherwise,  it  would  not  be 
thought  an  abode  of  the  blessed.  Going  to  Paris  means,  with 
most  of  our  countrymen,  having  a  round  of  dissipation  with 
each  other  at  the  Grand  Hotel.  Of  French  life  they  see  noth- 
ing, and  care  little  for  it.  They  ride,  and  drive,  and  laugh, 
and  talk,  and  drink,  and  spend  money  together,  and  having 
nothing  to  do,  and  no  sense  of  restraint,  they  imagine  them- 
selves very  happy,  and  return  home  with  pleasant  memories 
of  the  French  capital.  Everybody  has  met  a  number  of  such 
persons,  who  think  it  very  odd  that  their  peculiar  pleasures 
are  not  relished  by  all.  They  prefer  the  Valentino  to  the 
Louvre,  and  the  Clauserie  de  Lilas  to  Versailles. 

To  enjoy  Paris  below  the  mere  surface,  to  appreciate  it 
fully,  one  must  stay  in  it  some  time ;  must  learn  to  feel  how 
convenient,  comfortable,  and  varied  it  is ;  how  infinitely  supe- 
rior, on  the  whole,  to  any  or  every  other  city,  and  cease  to 
measure  it  by  a  purely  ideal  standard.  I  have  had  such  expe- 
rience ;  and,  looking  back  calmly  upon  all  the  places  I  have 
seen  and  resided  in,  the  French  capital  stands  above  any  other, 
and  draws  me  with  a  stronger  magnetism.  It  is  not  sp  much 
its  excitement  as  its  rest,  its  gayety  as  its  cosmopolitan  solitude, 
its  pleasures  as  its  polite  indifference,  that  always  invite  me 
to  the  great  centre  of  civilization. 

Not  less  than  twenty  to  twenty-five  thousand  Americans 
are  usually  staying  in  Paris,  and  the  Grand  Hotel  is  their 
rallying  point  and  rendezvous.  Go  into  the  court-yard  any 
day  between  eleven  in  the  morning  and  the  same  hour  in  the 
evening,  and  you  will  be  almost  certain  to  meet  some  of  your 
acquaintances.  I  have  encountered  men  there  I  had  not  seen 
before  for  ten  or  twelve  years. 

The  Grand  Hotel  does,  and  has  from  the  first  done,  an  im- 
mense business ;  but,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Erie  Railway,  the 
stockholders  seem  to  derive  little  benefit  from  it.  The  hotel 
is  owned  by  a  French  company,  between  which  and  the  pat- 


128  THE  THEATRES. 

rons  there  are  so  many  intermediates  that  the  profits  get 
strained  too  fine  for  perception.  It  is  a  common  saying  that 
everybody  makes  money  about  the  concern  but  its  sharehold- 
ers. If  a  shrewd,  energetic  American  should  take  the  house, 
he  would  make  a  fortune  in  a  few  years. 

As  an  instance  of  its  profits,  two  of  the  principal  waiters 
in  the  drinking  saloon  pay  $1,000  a  year  for  their  places,  and 
clear  $1,500  to  $2,000  each,  by  the  pour  ooire  they  receive. 
No  wonder :  the  careless-handed  Americans  are  favorite  geese 
to  be  plucked  by  the  vast  horde  of  shrewd  Continentalists. 

The  Grand  Hotel  is  expensive,  costing  from  $50  or  $60,  to 
$200,  $300,  and  $500  a  week.  Not  a  few  of  our  countrymen 
who  go  there  to  make  a  show,  spend  the  last-named  sums,  and 
fancy  they  have  done  honor  to  the  Republic  by  their  reckless 
outlay. 

The  theatres,  to  the  number  of  twenty-five  or  thirty,  in- 
cluding the  four  or  five  opera  houses,  present  every  variety  of 
attraction,  from  the  classic  drama  of  Racine  and  Moliere  to 
the  vaudeville  and  spectacular  ballet.  The  prices  seem  high, 
even  to  an  American,  ranging  from  twelve  francs  (about  $2.50) 
to  two  francs.  The  houses  are  excellently  patronized,  particu- 
larly on  Sunday  evening ;  but  they  are  ill-constructed  for  ven- 
tilation, ,  and  the  stalls  are  so  shut  in  that  it  is  difficult  to 
breathe.  We  find  fault  with  our  theatres,  which  are  breezy 
gardens  compared  to  the  theatres  of  Paris.  The  foyer,  into 
which  every  one  goes  during  the  entr'actes  for  fresh  air,  pre- 
vents asphyxia.  Some  of  the  theatres  are  very  well  built,  and 
handsome ;  but  others  are  dingy,  even  dirty,  and  every  way 
disagreeable.  Much  more  attention  is  paid  to  the  scenery,  and 
costuming,  and  orchestra,  than  with  us,  generally ;  but  some 
of  the  New  York  houses  will  compare  favorably  with,  are 
even  superior  to,  any  in  Paris. 

The  people  who  go  to  the  theatres  pay  little  attention  to 
dress.  At  the  Grand  Opera  and  Comedie  Francaise,  on  par- 
ticular occasions,  toilette  is  deemed  essential ;  but  it  is  not 
usually  much  regarded,  even  there,  out  of  the  boxes. 

A  popular  idea  in  our  country  is  that  Parisian  audiences 


THE  BOULEVARDS. 


129 


are  very  quiet  and  thoroughly  well-bred.  They  are,  on  the 
contrary,  very  noisy,  and  even  during  the  performance,  some- 
times chatter  and  laugh  so  loudly  as  to  require  the  rebuke  of 
all  who  wish  to  hear  the  play. 

They  are  quite  as  bad  as  our  people  in  getting  up  and  hur- 
rying away  from  the  house  before  the  curtain  falls.  They  be- 
gin to  go  out  five  minutes  before  the  last  words  are  spoken  or 
sung,  and  can't  be  kept  in  their  places  by  the  severest  disap- 
probation. 

The  Boulevards,  from  the  Madeleine  to  the  Place  de  la 
Bastille,  show  the  life  of  Paris. 

All  its  features  and  characteristics  are  reflected  there — its 
variety,  its  animation,  its  gayety,  its  glitter,  its  elegance,  its 


BOULEVARD  ST,   MICHEL. 


hollowness,  its  fierceness,  its  tenderness,  its  love  of  art,  its 
fondness  of  sensation,  its  passion  for  nudity  and  out-door  life. 
Probably  the  Boulevards  are  a  disappointment  to  many 
who  have  heard  so  much  of  their  splendor.  They  are  merely 
very  broad,  well-built,  admirably  paved  streets,  full  of  gay 
shops,  brilliant  cafes,  hotels,  and  theatres ;  but  when  they  are 
lighted  at  night,  and  crowded  with  loungers  and  promenaders, 


130 


RECOGNIZED  IMPOSITIONS. 


they  are  really  dazzling,  and  surpass  any  similar  quarter  in  the 

world. 

The  Boulevard  St.  Michel  is  one  of  the  many  fine  streets, 

and  gives  a  very  fair  idea  of  their  general  appearance. 

The  Place 
de  la  Bastille  is 
historic  ground. 
There  formerly 
stood  the  re- 
nowned Bas- 
tille, built  as  the 
Castle  of  Paris, 
afterward  used 
as  a  State  pris- 
on. The  spot  is 
now  marked  by 
a  graceful  mon- 
ument; and  the 
names  of  six 
hundred  and  fif- 
ty-five persons 
who,  it  is   said, 


PLACE   DE  LA  BASTILLE. 


caused  its  destruction,  are  engraved  upon  the  column. 

One  of  the  continental  annoyances  to  new  travellers  is  the 
•pour  boire,  buona  mano,  or  trink-geld  (drink-money),  for  it  is 
never  included  in  any  agreement,  nor  is  the  amount  fixed. 
You  engage  a  hack,  or  get  your  dinner  or  breakfast,  or  go  to 
the  theatre,  or  buy  anything,  and,  in  addition  to  the  price,  you 
are  expected  to  pay  something  more,  which  varies  from  a  few 
sous  to  five  francs  or  a  sovereign.  How  this  custom  arose  I 
can't  say ;  but  it  is  so  firmly  established  that  it  is  difficult  to 
break  it  down. 

While  Americans  complain  of  the  system,  they  do  more 
than  any  other  people  to  make  it  oppressive  by  their  extrava- 
gance. They  pay  six  sous  for  a  glass  of  beer,  and  give  ten  to 
the  garcon ;  and  so  in  proportion.  If  tourists  would  demand 
that  all  first  charges  should  include  everything,  the  imposition 


FREEDOM  OF   WOMEN.  131 

would  be  stopped  ;  but  until  they  protest  against  it  by  act,  of 
course  it  will  be  continued.  The  pour  boire  is  the  bete  noir 
of  travellers  of  irritable  temper  and  limited  means. 

Americans  maunder,  too,  about  the  small  swindles  prac- 
ticed by  hotel-keepers,  such  as  charging  them  with  extras  they 
do  not  have ;  putting  down  candles  they  have  never  seen ; 
making  them  pay  for  service  in  the  bill,  and  expecting  them 
to  pay  it  over  again  to  the  domestics.  The  item  of  service 
has  long  been  an  annoyance.  Tourists  were  so  defrauded  by 
servants — demands  were  so  exacting — that  landlords  pretended 
to  remove  the  grievance  by  including  the  service  in  the  bill. 
They  do  include  it ;  but  every  servant  expects  gratuities  just 
the  same.  The  only  course  of  conduct  is  to  have  an  under- 
standing that  the  service  be  paid  with  your  bill,  and  let  the 
begging  menials  go.  It  may  be  more  trouble  for  you  to  do 
this  than  to  pay  twice ;  but  you  must  decide  that  question  for 
yourself. 

Women  have  a  great  deal  of  freedom  in  Paris.  They  go 
where  they  like,  and  do  what  they  like,  without  the  smallest 
hindrance.  They  are  unattended  ver}'  often,  and  no  one  mo- 
lests or  insults  them.  They  enter  the  crowded  cafes ;  take  a 
seat  in  a  whole  line  of  men ;  call  for  a  cup  of  coffee  or  a  glass 
of  wine,  or  a  sherbet,  and  have  their  pleasure  in  the  most 
masculine  way.  True,  most  of  the  unattended  women  are 
lorettes ;  but  they  are  treated  with  as  much  outward  respect 
as  if  they  were  duchesses.  ~No  rudeness,  no  ribaldry,  in  their 
presence.  Nobody  feels  contaminated  by  their  nearness.  Even 
their  purer  and  more  fortunate  sisters  sit  at  their  side  with 
fathers,  brothers,  and  husbands,  and  feel  no  taint. 

There  are  very  rarely  separate  apartments  for  the  sexes,  and 
for  the  reason  that  there  men  do  not  talk  in  public  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  women  may  not  hear  them.  Americans,  who  reside 
in  Paris  for  any  length  of  time,  adopt  the  habit  of  the  coun- 
try, and  go  to  the  cafes  with  their  feminine  friends  without 
the  least  hesitation.  You  often  see  ladies  drinking  coffee  and 
wine  at  the  little  tables  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Grand  Hotel — 
the  great  stronghold  of  Americanism. 


132 


UX1VERSAL   POLITENESS. 


You  may  remain  in  Paris  a  year,  and  visit  every  quarter, 
without  seeing  a  quarrel  of  any  sort.  A  street  fight  is  almost 
unknown,  and  the  striking  of  a  blow  is  an  anomaly  there. 
The  influence  of  decorum  must  be  strong  when  our  country- 
men cease  to  be  belligerent,  o'nce  on  the  Seine. 

It  is  a  serious  thing  legally  to  strike  a  Frenchman.  A 
young  Bostonian  took  offence  during  the  Exposition  at  a  gen- 
darme, and  knocked  him  down.  Other  gendarmes  inter- 
fered, and  they  were  felled  also.  The  affair  created  an  excite- 
ment. The  young  fellow  escaped  into  the  Grand  Hotel,  but 
not  concealing  himself,  he  was  afterward  arrested  and  thrown 
into  prison.  General  Dix  tried  to  obtain  his  release,  but  did 
not  succeed  until  the  young  man  had  been  confined  seven 
months,  and  had  paid  several  thousand  dollars.  The  poor  fel- 
low, though  very  vigorous  naturally,  was  entirely  broken  down 
by  his  captivity,  went  home,  and  died  of  consumption. 

I  like  the 
French  for  their 
politeness  and 
decorum.  Go 
where  you  will, 
there  you  never 
notice  the 
smallest  rude- 
n e  s  s  ,  even 
among  the  com- 
m  o  n  classes. 
The  spirit  of 
courtesy  is  uni- 
versal.    It  may 

not  be  deep,  but  it  is  all  one  desires.  Ask  a  question  in  the 
streets,  and  you  may  be  sure  of  a  courteous  answer.  Any  one 
will  direct  you  to  a  place  you  wish  to  find,  and  take  pains  to 
accommodate  you,  and  that,  too,  without  expectation  or  thought 
of  reward. 

The  fondness  of  the  French  for  out-door  life  is  a  healthful 
sign.     They  rarely  sit  within  walls  when  they  can  get  into 


UNIVERSAL    POLITENESS. 


FONDNESS  OF  TALKING.  133 

the  open  air.  On  pleasant  days  every  cafe  in  and  about  Paris 
has  its  little  marble-top  tables  arranged  under  awnings 
in  front  of  the  house.  There  men  and  women  sit,  and  talk, 
and  smoke,  and  drink  hour  after  hour  in  a  state  of  repose  and 
satisfaction  that  never  seem  to  be  ours. 

They  can  extract  much  from  little.  Their  pleasures  are 
not  expensive.  They  are  very  economical.  A  Frenchman 
will  sit  over  his  small  glass  of  eau  sucre  or  demi-bouteille  of  vin 
ordinaire,  and  draw  more  satisfaction  from  it  than  an  American 
would  from  the  expenditure  of  a  thousand  dollars. 

The  French  are  born  talkers,  and  usually  they  talk  well. 
Their  language  is  eminently  adapted  for  conversation,  having 
all  the  little  niceties  and  varieties  of  expression  that  make  compli- 
ment, satire,  and  epigram.  Since  the  Greeks  gabbled  so  elo- 
quently in  ancient  Athens,  there  have  been  no  such  talkers,  as  a 
nation,  as  the  French.  It  is  to  them  a  distinct  pleasure ;  they 
cultivate  it  as  an  art ;  it  is  an  intellectual  dissipation ;  a  sort  of 
mental  absinthe,  without  its  bane.  Frenchmen,  and  particu- 
larly women,  are  won  by  talking.  While  they  can  talk,  and 
be  talked  to,  life  is  not  barren,  nor  their  existence  a  failure. 
To  more  reticent  nations  they  seem  complete  chatterboxes. 
High  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  cultivated  and  uncultivated,  all 
talk.  In  the  market,  the  public  square,  the  theatre,  the  cafe, 
the  drawing-room,  their  tongues  are  constantly  wagging,  and 
they  wag  with  no  little  eloquence.  .  When  an  American,  who 
loves  conversation  and  speaks  French,  is  weary  of  his  own 
country,  he  can  go  to  Paris,  and  talk  himself  into  Pere  la 
Chaise. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  is  an  imposing  and  magnificent  struc- 
ture, devoted  to  the  city's  use.  It  has  elegantly-appointed 
apartments  for  the  use  of  civic  and  other  public  functionaries, 
and  an  immense  library  of  some  fifty  thousand  volumes,  con- 
taining works  of  the  greatest  value. 

In  the  Hue  de  la  Paix  is  a  well-known  pastry-cook,  whose 
history  is  singular.  He  was  once  a  litterateur  and  dramatist, 
famous  for  his  eccentricity.  He  had  talent,  but  he  never 
succeeded  with  the  managers  on  account  of  his  want  of  tact. 


134 


AN  UNGRATEFUL  HUSBAND. 


Poverty  was,  consequently,  his  natural  condition,  and  he  suf- 
fered from  it ;  for,  like  most  men  of  culture,  he  had  luxurious 
tastes.  About  five  years  ago  a  wealthy  friend,  who  had  often 
lent  the  playwright  money,  fell  violently  in  love  with  the  pretty 


THE  HOTEL  DE  VILLE. 


wife  of  a  pastry-cook,  one  Lacroix,  and  laid  formal  siege  to  her 
affections.     Contrary  to   the   expectations  of  the  lover,   the 
madame,  though  amiable,  was  not  disloyal,  and  repulsed  all 
his  advances.     The  gallant„who  had  been  very  successful  in  such 
affairs,  was  angry  at  his  failure,  and  finding  the  wife  could  not 
be  captured,  he  withdrew  his  suit,  and  resolved  to  be  revenged. 
In  the  dilemma  he  applied  to  the  litterateur  as  to  the  best  means 
of  getting  satisfaction.     The  man  of  the  pen  advised  his  friend 
to  set  him  up  as  a  pastry-cook  in  the  same  neighborhood,  say- 
ing that  the  novelty  of  the  thing  would  take  away  all  Lacroix's 
business.     The  idea  was  put  into  practice.     The  store  adjoin- 
ing Lacroix's  was  rented,  and  the  playwright  put  into  it.    The 
appearance  of  the  eccentric  fellow  in  a  cap  and  white  apron 
proved  an  attraction.     He  secured  a  large  custom  at  once,  and 
has  retained  it  ever  since.      Lacroix  was  compelled  to  re- 
move his  shop  to'  another  quarter  of  the  town,  and  soon  failed 
completely. 


THE  MORAL. 


135 


The  madame  learned  the  cause  of  the  sudden  rivalry,  and 
imparted  it  to  her  husband,  expecting  to  be  highly  praised  for 
her  virtue.  But  her  liege  lord,  as  the  story  goes,  was  incensed 
at  her  for  her  superfluous  conscientiousness,  and  upbraided  her 
as  the  author  of  his  misfortunes.  They  quarrelled  so  that  they 
separated.  The  madame  was  very  justly  indignant,  and,  after 
the  divorce,  became  attached  to  the  ardent  admirer  she  had 
formerly  rejected. 

Let  no  wife  who  has  resisted  temptation,  draw  from  this 
story  a  false  moral.  Let  her  remember  that  men  love  truth 
above  everything ;  that  but  few  husbands  are  named  Lacroix, 
or  are  pastry-cooks,  both  in  spirit  and  in  fact. 


CHAPTEE    XV. 

MAGNIFICENT   PARIS. 

>ERE  LA  CHAISE  is  one  of  the  disappoint- 
ments of  Paris.  There  are  many  cemeteries  in 
the  United  States  superior  to  it.  Indeed,  the 
famous  place  has  very  little  to  recommend  it,  and 
reminds  one  of  a  brick-yard  scattered  over  a  hill. 
The  monuments  generally  are  neither  handsome 
nor  in  good  taste.  There  are  no  walks  nor  groves 
worthy  of  the  name ;  and  you  marvel  how  such  a  cemetery 
ever  gained  a  reputation. 

There  are  the  graves  of  warriors,  poets,  statesmen,  patriots ; 
but  the  tomb  of  Abelard  and  Heloise  is  more  interesting  than 
all  the  rest.  The  figures  of  the  famous  lovers,  carved  upon 
the  monument,  lie  side  by  side — her  head  resting  upon  his 
arm — and  are  covered  by  a  Gothic  roof.  The  tomb  is  much 
impaired  by  time,  and  the  only  part  of  the  inscription  we  can 
read  is,  "  They  are  united  at  last  in  death." 

I  had  great  difficulty  in  finding  the  grave,  and  asked  two 
elderly  women  of  the  humble  class,  where  it  was.  They 
took  great  pains  to  show  me ;  went  here  and  there  among 
the  tombs,  spending  as  much  as  fifteen  minutes  in  the  search. 
At  last  they  pointed  it  out.  I  thanked  them,  and  offered  them 
money ;  but  they  refused  it  politely,  saying,  "  Oh !  no,  sir ;  we 
are  glad  you  wanted  to  see  it ;  we  are  too  happy  to  show  it 
to  you.  We  cannot  take  money  for  pointing  out  the  grave  of 
the  two  dear  ones  who  have  done  so  much  to  make  love  im- 
mortal."- I  thanked  them  again,  and  felt  ashamed  that  I  had 
forgotten  that  every  woman  in  France  is  a  sentimentalist. 


NOTED    GRAVES. 


137 


My  guides  were  poor ;  would  have  received  money  for  al- 
most any  other  courtesy,  I  suppose ;  but  they  could  not  accept 
reward  for  performing  what  they  regarded  as  a  sentimental 
duty.  No  persons  of  the  same  class  in  England,  Germany, 
Spain,  or  Italy,  would  decline  money  under  such  circumstan- 
ces ;  but  in  France,  the  mere  name  of  love  is  the  open  sesame 
to  eveiy  feminine  heart. 

I  stood  before  the  tomb,  and,  recalling  their  story,  won- 
dered whether  the  lovers  were  indeed  united  in  death.  Does 
sympathy 
extend  be- 
yond the 
grave?  or 
is  it  merely 
the  credu- 
lity of  the 
heart  that 
makes  us 
believe  so? 
I  thought 
how  true  it  P 


GRAVE  OP   ABELARD  AND  HELOI9E. 


i  s ,    setting 

aside  all  romance,  that  love  was  never  so  pure,  so  deep,  so 
chivalrous,  as  it  is  to-day  ;  that  woman  was  never  before  such 
an  object  of  spiritual  worship ;  that  man,  even  in  this  age  of 
practicality,  was  never  so  knightly  in  his  devotion,  so  gener- 
ous in  his  charity  to  woman's  weaknesses  and  woman's  errors. 

So  reflecting,  I  uncovered  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  and 
felt  that  love  is  the  sole  religion ;  the  Christ  that,  by  hourly 
offering  itself  a  sacrifice  for  selfishness,  makes  it  nobleness  at 
last ;  the  good  angel  who  works  miracles  of  beauty,  purifies 
and  transforms  whatever  it  touches,  until  what  is  Love's  be- 
comes Hope,  and  Holiness,  and  Rest. 

It  was  painful  to  remember,  beside  their  tomb,  that  only 
Heloise  was  noble  and  devoted  ;  that  Abelard  was  selfish,  and 
mean,  and  cowardly  beyond  almost  any  man  woman  has  suf- 
fered for.     He  acted  like  a  tyrant  and  a  brute,  and  yet  she 


138  - 


CHURCHES  OF  PARIS. 


loved  him  as  if  he  had  been  an  angel.  She  forgave  him  all 
the  monstrous  wrongs  he  had  done  her,  and  to  the  last  was 
loyal  and  magnanimous  in  every  throb  of  her  heart.  Abelard 
is  sanctified  in  sentiment ;  but  in  history  and  truth  he  deserves 
eternal  execration. 

The  churches  of  Paris  are  very  costly,  and  many  of  them 
beautiful.  The  fame  of  Notre  Dame  is  almost  as  great  as  that 
of  St.  Peter's  Cathedral  at  Pome. 

The   Church   of   St.    Genevieve  was  modelled  after   the 

celebrated  Pan- 
theon at  Athens, 


and    bore    that 
|j  name  for  a  long 
j  time.      It     was 
1  converted  after- 
m  ward     into     a 
p|  temple    dedica- 
ted to  the  fam- 
ous men  of  the 
|  nation,  but  was 
restored  to  the 
|  Church  by  the 
S  Emperor  Napo- 
ll  leon    III.,    and 
11  christened      i  n 
honor  of  Saint 
H^j  Genevieve.      It 
jpjHj  is  a  grand   and 
[  m  a  g  n  i  fi  c  e  n  t 
structure. 

The  Church  of  St.  Sulpice  is  an  imposing  edifice.  Its 
front  is  of  a  very  unusual  style,  and,  standing  in  an  open  space, 
the  structure  produces  a  striking  effect. 

It  has  an  immense  organ,  of  about  seven  thousand  pipes, 
and  one  hundred  and  eighteen  registers. 

The  interior  of  the  church  is  hung  with  rich  and  expensive 
paintings,  and  few  persons  visit  Paris  without  giving  the  build- 
ing a  long  and  close  inspection. 


CHURCH  OP   ST.    GENEVIEVE. 


FRENCH  STOCK  EXCHANGE. 


139 


Paris  abounds  in  public  buildings  of  a  sumptuous  kind. 
The  Hotel  des  Invalides  is  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  archi- 
tecture in  the  city.     It  shelters  the  poor  and  infirm  defend- 


CHXJRCH  OF  ST.   StTLPICE. 


ers  of  France.  The  dome  is  over  three  hundred  feet  in  height ; 
a  Church  hospital  and  library  are  connected  with  it,  and  it  has 
accommodations  for  about  five  thousand  men.  Its  chapel  con- 
tains the  splendid  tomb  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon  L,  and  is 
rich  in  paintings  and  statuary. 

Those  who  have  been  amused  with  the  tumultuous  pro- 
ceedings of  the  Gold  Board  or  Stock  Exchange,  in  Broad 
street,  should  not  fail  to  make  a  comparison  between  New 
York  and  Paris.  I  once  thought  no  men  out  of  straight 
jackets  could  appear  more  excited  or  grotesque  than  our  bro- 
kers and  speculators,  when  the  list  of  shares  is  fluctuating  and 
feverish. 

I  was  mistaken.  The  Parisians  are  thrice  as  mad  as  they, 
as  you  may  see,  if  you  will  walk  along  the  Boulevards  down  to 
the  Place  de  la  Bourse  any  afternoon  between  twelve  and  three. 
That  vast  Pantheon-shaped  building,  the  steps  of  which  are 


140 


VIEW  FROM  THE   GALLERY. 


crowded  with  men  talking  together  in  knots,  holding  pencils 
and  small  books,  is  the  French  Stock  Exchange.  The  outside 
groups  appear  calm.  They  are  talking  earnestly,  but  not 
loudly ;  and  yet  over,  and  around,  and  under  them  comes  a 

roar  rising  and 
falling  like  an  an- 
gry sea.  You 
cannot  account 
for  the  mysteri- 
ous noise  at  first ; 
but  when  you 
mount  the  steps 
you  perceive  the 
tumult  is  inside 
of  the 
Desirous  to 
vestigate,  you  as- 
cend by  a  side 
door  to  the  gal- 
lery, open  to  the 
public,  and  look 
down  into  the 
large  hall  below. 
You  will  find  a 
great  many  spec- 
tators like  your- 
self in  the  gal- 
lery, which  will 
hold  twenty-five 


building. 


m- 


HOTEL  DE8  INVALIDES. 


hundred,    all    of 
them  watching  the  excited  throng. 

The  hall  occupies  the  entire  building,  the  walls  extending 
to  the  roof,  and  bearing  medallions  with  the  names  of  the 
principal  commercial  cities  of  Europe.  The  floor  is  filled  with 
men  of  all  ages — those  of  middle  life  and  beyond  it  predomi- 
nating— separated  from  each  other  by  iron  railings  and  circles 
guarded  by  gendarmes  (soldiers  are  ubiquitous  in   France), 


WALL  STREET  OUTDONE.  141 

who  stand  there  to  keep  out  all  but  the  regular  members. 
Within  the  iron  railings  are  the  registers  and  accountants,  who, 
with  large  books  before  them,  keep  records  of  the  sales  and 
transfers  of  the  shares  sold  during  the  day. 

Every  one  of  the  ten  or  twelve  hundred  men  down  there 
is  talking;  no,  not  talking,  but  yelling  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  and  many  of  them  shaking  their  amis  and  brandishing 
their  hats  in  the  air  continuously  and  frantically.  They  are 
offering  stocks  you  know ;  but  you  never  would  suppose  any 
one  could  hear  what  they  are  saying.  They  are  not  content 
with  shouting  or  gesticulating.  They  are  indulging  in  physi- 
cal gyrations  and  contortions.  They  hug  each  other  like 
fellows  maudlin  after  midnight ;  they  leap  on  each  others 
shoulders ;  they  shake  fists ;  they  dash  forward  and  jump  back- 
ward ;  they  laugh ;  they  scream ;  they  howl ;  and  style  all  this 
business. 

What  a  centre  of  commerce  a  mad-house  must  be,  you 
think,  if  the  Bourse  is  a  place  of  sale  and  barter ! 

I  don't  think  any  one  gets  a  better  idea  of  the  trade  of 
money-making  after  spending  an  hour  in  the  strangers'  gal- 
lery. He  concludes  if  men  can  be  so  affected  by  speculation, 
that  speculation  must  be  undesirable,  even  pernicious. 

See  that  gray-haired  man,  sixty-five  at  least,  who  ought  to 
have  retired  years  ago,  and  to  be  living  at  peace  with  all  the 
world.  He  is  worth  a  vast  fortune ;  and  yet  he  is  crying  out 
in  a  shrill  voice,  "Half  per  cent,  higher!"  wiping  his  hot 
brow  nervously,  and  inviting  the  apoplexy  to  visit  him  next 
spring,  when,  if  he  had  been  sensible,  it  would  not  have  come 
at  all.  His  wife  is  gambling  at  Baden-Baden ;  his  daughters 
are  losing  their  hearts  to  professional  libertines,  and  his  only 
son  is  running  to  the  grave  by  the  path  of  dissipation.  The 
old  speculator  might  have  had  it  otherwise;  but  he  forgot 
family  for  money,  and  he  has  his  reward. 

There  is  a  young  man  who  had  a  handsome  income  from 
his  business ;  but  he  did  not  think  it  large  enough.  He  deter- 
mined to  speculate,  and  now  his  life  is  so  feverish  that  he  can 
rest  neither  day  nor  night.     The   terrible   voice   that   says, 


142 


RESULTS   OF  SPECULATION. 


"  Sleep  no  more !  "  has  spoken  to  him.  His  young  wife  watches 
his  hectic  cheek,  and  shudders  at  his  sudden  starts  in  the  silent 
watches  before  the  dawn.  And  then  she  goes  to  the  little 
cradle  at  the  bedside,  and  prays  over  the  sleeping  babe, 
through  falling  tears,  that  the  father  may  be  spared,  and  that 
poverty  may  come,  if  with  it  will  come  peace  of  mind. 

The  Paris  Bourse  is  worse  than  the  New  York  Exchange 
in  its  power  of  harm ;  for  men,  bankrupt  in  the  Old  "World, 
cannot  recover  as  in  the  New. 

Scores  of  persons  are  often  ruined  at  the  Bourse  in  a  single 
day.  No  one  takes  warning  by  example :  we  want  experience 
of  our  own,  and  we  get  it  to  our  cost. 


CHAPTEE    XYI. 

LIFE   IN    PARIS. 

AEIS  is  an  unfortunate  place  for  persons  with 
bad  tendencies.  It  makes  them  worse  by 
giving  them  opportunities  and  licenses  they 
would  not  have  nor  take  at  home.  Some 
young  men  go,  or  are  sent  there,  to  reform.  It  is 
like  casting  soiled  linen  into  the  mire  for  cleansing. 
Their  temptations  are  ten  times  as  strong  as  they  would 
be  anywhere  else,  and,  moreover,  all  the  restraints  of 
friends  and  family  are  removed.  Within  a  radius  of 
five  hundred  miles  a  youth  will  be  drawn  into  the  maelstrom 
of  dissipation,  and  it  is  difficult  to  get  him  out. 

Young'  men  sent  to  the  Continent  to  be  educated  find  their 
bane  in  that  city.  Instead  of  studying  at  Heidelberg,  or  Jena, 
or  Dresden,  they  riot  among  the  wine-shops  and  the  lorettes 
of  Paris ;  and  even  when  they  summon  resolution  enough  to 
go  back  to  their  musty  books  they  rarely  stay  long.  Canine 
writes,  or  Figaro  speaks  of  a  new  play,  and  they  rush  off  by 
the  first  train  to  the  seductive  capital.  I  have  known  youths, 
while  parents  believed  they  were  mastering  all  the  philosophy 
and  science  in  Germany,  who  were  graduating  in  dissipation 
not  far  from  the  Place  Yendome.  When  they  returned  home, 
with  pale  faces  and  bloodshot  eyes,  their  sympathetic  sisters 
pitied  them,  no  doubt,  and  said,  "  Poor,  dear  Charley,  he  has 
nearly  killed  himself  with  study  at  that  hateful  university. 
He  would  have  died  if  he  had  staid  there  much  longer."  Per> 
haps  he  would ;  but  Thorpe's,  and  late  suppers,  and  the  ballet- 


144  WOMEN  OF  PARIS. 

girls  of  the  Chatelet,  and  the  syrens  of  the  Closerie  would  have 
been  the  means  of  his  taking  off. 

The  "Grand  Duchess"  Schneider  I  have  often  heard,  and 
she  certainly  improves  on  acquaintance.  She  is  not  pretty,  nor 
is  she  a  very  remarkable  singer;  but  she  has  an  indefinable 
magnetism.  She  is  large  to  stoutness,  and  gives  you  an  im- 
pression of  perfect  health.  Her  eyes  are  expressive,  and 
she  makes  the  most  of  them.  Her  mouth  is  pretty  to  a 
point  of  perilousness.  She  acts  admirably  such  parts  as  Offen- 
bach's, and  often  sings  deliciously.  In  some  scenes  she  proves 
that  she  has  power  beyond  what  she  shows,  and  is  lost  for  the 
moment  in  her  art. 

Schneider  is  not  a  hypocrite.  She  says  she  lives  for  pleas- 
ure, and  seeks  it  wherever  it  can  be  found.  Her  salary  is  very 
large  for  Europe — over  eight  hundred  francs  a  night — and  from 
her  admirers  she  receives  large  sums  of  money  and  the  richest 
presents.  But  she  spends  all  she  receives,  and  is  often  in 
debt. 

The  women  of  Paris  are  rarely  handsome  in  respect  to  the 
rule-and-line  mode  of  judging.  Their  features  are  seldom 
regular ;  but  their  faces  are  interesting,  with  so  much  and  such 
ever-changing  expression,  that  one  is  likely  to  forget  how  they 
look.  Their  eyes  are  fine,  and  their  noses,  though  frequently 
retrousse,  are  adapted  to  their  other  features,  and  lend  piquancy 
to  the  whole.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  they  often  mar  their 
faces  by  excess  of  rouge,  and  by  blackening  their  eyelashes, 
eyebrows,  and  lids.  Their  manners  are  engaging,  but  it 
would  be  better  if  the  women  themselves  were  less  artificial. 
Xo  man  can  determine,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  whether 
nature  or  the  modiste  made  them.  After  he  has  won  an 
angel,  he  cannot  be  sure  she  will  not  melt,  under  intimate  ac- 
quaintance, into  an  unesthetic  mass  of  whalebone,  cotton,  and 
sawdust. 

The  women  look  best  between  nineteen  and  twenty.  After 
twenty-five  or  thirty  they  often  grow  tawny  and  shrivelled,  and 
old  women  in  France  when  homely,  are  very  homely.  They 
don't  become  thin  and  over-spiritualized,  like  the  Americans, 


HOMELY  SERVANTS  IN  DEMAND.  145 

nor  so  stout  nor  material  as  the  English.  Some  of  them 
wither  up  and  darken  until  they  bear  a  close  resemblance  to 
smoked  herrings. 

Not  a  few  of  the  fairest  of  the  sex  are  the  demi-mondeists 
and  cocottes.  A  very  good-looking  girl  is  with  difficulty  kept 
in  any  hotel,  store  or  shop  in  Paris  for  any  length  of  time. 
She  is  in  danger  of  being  persuaded  to  lead  the  life  of  a  lorette, 
rather  than  earn  her  bread  by  honest  industry.  So  much  is 
this  the  case  that  pretty  girls  cannot  easily  get  places ;  for  it  is 
feared  they  won't  stay  more  than  a  few  days.  Their  vanity  is 
so  easily  excited — and  they  are  singularly  sentimental,  what- 
ever their  station  in  life — that  when  some  designing  fellow 
tells  them  they  are  beautiful,  and  gives  them  a  trinket,  their 
head  is  fairly  turned,  and  their  usefulness  as  clerks  is  in  peril. 

Homely  servants,  and  saleswomen,  and  accountants  are, 
therefore,  in  demand,  and  the  demand  must  be  freely  met,  from 
the  number  of  sallow,  cross-eyed,  unattractive  creatures  in  the 
cafes,  shops,  and  theatres.  It  speaks  ill  for  the  morals  of  the 
community  that  a  woman  can't  be  handsome  and  keep  a  posi- 
tion in  a  public  place.  Thousands  of  girls  are  educated  and 
grow  up  with  the  expectation  of  entering  into  the  demi-monde. 
They  have  no  hope  of  marriage.  They  do  not  want  to  work. 
They  have  an  insatiable  fondness  for  display,  for  admiration, 
for  pleasure,  for  affection.  The  consequence  is,  they  go  to  the 
protection  of  the  first  man  who  is  liberal  with  his  purse  and  loose 
in  his  notions.  Not  trained  to  virtue,  without  abhorrence  of 
unchastity,  with  a  code  of  morals  that  exists  nowhere  else,  they 
follow  a  life  of  gayety  and  pleasure  without  regret  or  remorse. 
If  they  sin  much,  they  love  much.  Sensuous  and  sentimental 
pagans  as  they  are,  when  favor  deserts  and  fortune  frowns,  they 
kiss  their  faded  flowers,  and  old  love-letters,  quote  a  phrase 
from  Lamartine  or  Dumas,  light  the  charcoal,  and  are  at  rest. 

Who  blames  them,  poor  creatures  \  Man,  who  is  always 
responsible  for  them,  is  cruel  when  he  casts  at  them  the  smallest 
stone. 

The  American  women,  of  whom  so  many  are  constantly 
in    Paris,   are    greatly  admired   there.     Nor  is  it   strange; 
10 


146  ECONOMY  OF  LIVING. 

for  they  are,  among  all  nationalities,  strikingly  handsome. 
Whenever  you  notice  a  pretty  woman  in  Paris  you  may  feel 
almost  certain  she  is  an  American.  On  the  Champs  Elysees, 
at  the  Bois,  at  the  opera,  in  the  Boulevards,  the  delicate,  spir- 
ituelle,  oval,  intellectual  faces,  that  peep  out  like  lilies  in  a  gar- 
den, are  unmistakably  those  of  our  countrywomen.  They  are 
known  all  over  the  Continent  for  their  rare  beauty,  and  lauded 
from  the  Volga  to  the  Seine.  At  the  Grand  Hotel  you  see 
more  pretty  women  than  anywhere  else  in  Paris.  Some  of 
them  are  like  peacocks — beautiful  only  when  silent.  But  there 
are  many  who  talk  as  they  look ;  who  are  entirely  elegant  and 
well-bred ;  who  have  the  fine  magnetism  and  fragrance  that 
render  the  plainest  women  lovely. 

Paris,  though  a  city  of  luxury,  is  not  necessarily,  therefore, 
a  city  of  extravagance.  You  can  live  exactly  as  you  please — 
for  five  hundred  francs  a  day,  or  for  five,  if  you  like.  After 
numerous  experiments,  I  have  discovered  that  a  man  can  have 
more  comfort  there  for  a  small  amount  of  money  than  any- 
where else  in  the  world.  If  he  attempts  to  make  a  show,  or 
seeks  fashionable  quarters,  he  must,  of  course,  be  careless  of 
his  purse.  That  is  true  of  all  places.  Having  dined  and 
lodged  all  the  way  from  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines  and  the 
Grand  Hotel  to  the  Quartier  Latin,  and  the  lodging-houses  of 
the  Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince,  I  have  found  that  a  bachelor 
can  be  well  fed,  well  lodged,  well  clad,  and  have  reasonable 
incidental  expenses,  for  eighty  francs  a  week — about  sixteen 
dollars  gold.  He  can  live  better  on  that  amount  than  he  can 
in  New  York  for  twice  the  sum. 

A  native  citizen  declares  that  no  unmarried  man  needs 
more  than  thirty-eight  hundred  francs  ($760)  a  year  to  be  en- 
tirely happy  in  Paris,  and  all  he  expends  above  that  is  foolish 
extravagance. 

"  But  Paris  is  no  place  for  married  people,"  the  reader  says. 
It  is  not  very  favorable  to  wedlock  for  those  who  go  there  sin- 
gle ;  but  for  those  who  are  already  wedded,  and  have  been 
struggling  to  keep  up  appearances  in  America  on  a  small  in- 
come, it  is  excellent.     I  wonder  more  of  our  New  York  fami- 


VIRTUE  REWARDED.  147 

lies  don't  emigrate  there.  They  get  along  poorly  enough  at 
home  with  their  $2,000,  or  §3,000,  or  $-±,000  a  year ;  while  in 
that  city  they  could  be  very  comfortable.  They  could  get  ex- 
cellent apartments,  instead  of  being  obliged  to  rent  a  whole 
house  at  an  enormous  rate.  They  could  educate  their  children 
far  better  than  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and,  on  the 
whole,  the  change  would  be  for  the  better. 

La  Perine,  the  popular  news-dealer,  who  occupies  the  kiosk 
in  front  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  is  an  instance  of  the  benefit  of 
paragraphs.  Two  years  ago  she  was  very  poor,  and  for  weeks 
knew  not  whether  to  walk  into  the  wide-open  doors  of  the 
demi-monde  or  the  silent  waters  of  the  Seine.  An  orphan, 
five-and-twenty,  bred  in  the  provinces,  she  went  to  the  me- 
tropolis to  earn  her  bread — not  handsome  nor  educated,  but 
still  rather  interesting.  A  journalist  met  her,  and  liked  her, 
and  wished  her  to  become  his  mistress.  She  said  she  had  come 
to  Paris  to  take  care  of  her  body,  not  to  sell  it :  that  she  was 
without  money,  but  no  man  was  rich  enough  to  buy  her  con- 
sciousness of  honor  and  her  self-esteem. 

The  sentiment  was  cheap  enough ;  can  be  heard  any  night 
ad  nauseam  on  the  Bowery  stage ;  but  it  impressed  the  writer 
for  the  press  as  something  extraordinary.  A  woman  neither 
old  nor  hideous,  and  in  Paris,  too,  yet  determined  to  be  virtu- 
ous, was  a  revelation  to  him.  Interested  before,  he  was  fasci- 
nated now.  Strange  to  say,  considering  his  nationality,  she 
awoke  in  him  a  feeling  of  severe  respect,  instead  of  driving 
him  from  her  through  wounded  vanity.  He  advised  her  to 
set  up  a  news-stand,  and  he  rented  a  kiosk — the  best  one  in 
the  Boulevards — for  her  for  three  months.  Then  he  began  to 
write  paragraphs  about  La  Perine — the  influence  of  the  daily 
press  is  immense  in  that  city — and  before  a  week  she  had 
secured  a  liberal  patronage.  In  a  month  she  became  the  fash- 
ion ;  for  the  journalist  is  connected  with  the  brightest  and  clev- 
erest sheet  in  Paris;  and  now  she  is  earning  quite  a  little 
fortune. 

La  Perine  is  famous.  Her  photographs  are  in  the  win- 
dows; songs  are  written  about  her;  every  one  stops  at  her 


148 


A   SHREWD  PARTNER. 


kiosk  to  look  at  her.  She  is  called  beautiful,  because  she  is 
celebrated.  Her  admirer  will  not  allow  her  trade  to  languish. 
He  keeps  her  before  the  public  in  all  varieties  of  epigram.  At 
one  time  she  seemed  waning  in  popularity.  A  little  fiction 
about  an  attempt  to  carry  her  off,  as  she  was  going  home  late 
at  night,  fully  reestablished  her,  and  she  may  now  be  deemed 
a  permanent  feature  of  the  Boulevards. 


■C\r^l 


CHAPTEK   XYII. 

NOVELTIES     OF     PARIS. 

|  HE  reputation  of  Paris  is  that  of  the  wick- 
edest of  cities.  If  it  be  so,  it  is  likewise 
the  most  decorous.  It  may  be  that  sin  is 
less  sinful  by  redemption  from  coarseness. 

The  French  seem  to  hold  this  view,  and 
preserve  an  external  show  of  graceful  de- 
cency rarely  found  in  any  other  nation.  If  you  wish  to  be- 
lieve in  the  elegance  and  refinement  of  Parisian  life,  do  not 
go  below  the  surface.  Under  the  blandest  manners  and  the 
warmest  professions  of  regard,  nestle  brutal  ferocity  and  ab- 
sorbing selfishness.  Behind  downcast  eyes  and  dainty  talk 
may  lie  utter  heartlessness  and  supreme  sensuality.  Paris  is 
no  worse  than  London,  Vienna,  or  New  York ;  but  it  does 
not  pretend  to  ignore  the  vices  all  great  cities  have,  and  it  cer- 
tainly makes  them  less  dangerous  by  recognizing  their  exist- 
ence. 

The  French  capital  is,  on  many  accounts,  the  most  decep- 
tions in  Europe,  and,  therefore,  the  most  agreeable  to  those 
unacquainted  with  its  inner  life.  If  the  Parisians  avowed 
what  they  felt,  and  put  their  acts  into  words,  they  who  ad- 
mire would  be  repelled,  and  they  who  praise  would  de- 
nounce. Their  proverb,  "  "What  can't  be  said  can  be  sung, 
and  what  can't  be  sung  can  be  done,"  is  characteristic  of  the 
peculiar  people.  They  call  common  things  by  fine  words,  and 
do  what  they  would  deem  it  barbarous  to  speak. 

Those  who  have  been  behind  the  scenes  must  regret  they 
have  stripped  off  so  much  of  the  illusion,  and  can  only  console 


150  THE  COCOTTES. 

themselves  with  the  thought  that  they  have  reached  the  truth. 
No  one  who  has  been  troubled  with  a  morbid  longing  for  the 
facts  that  underlie  appearances  there,  and  has  resolved  to  pen- 
etrate them,  can  be  induced  to  tell  exactly  what  those  facts 
were,  or  how  they  impressed  him.  Experience  has  its  own 
privacy.  Illusions  are  sweet,  particularly  in  Paris,  and  there 
they  should  be  cherished  in  all  earnestness. 

The  hols  de  nuit  of  the  city  are  among  its  novelties,  and, 
of  course,  strangers  who  would  not  think  of  patronizing  such 
places  at  home,  visit  them  there.  They  are  extremely  popu- 
lar, both  with  the  French  and  with  foreigners.  The  Yalen- 
tino,  Casino,  the  Chateau  Rouge,  the  Closerie  de  Lilas,  and 
famous  Jardin  Mabille,  are  among  the  best  known.  They  are 
very  much  alike  in  character,  being  participated  in  by  cocottes 
of  the  town  and  their  admirers,  and  attended  by  the  miscella- 
neous public. 

The  Valentino  and  Casino — in  the  heart  of  the  city  and 
under  cover — are  generally  closed  in  warm  weather,  because 
then  the  al  fresco  places  take  precedence. 

The  price  of  admission  is  three  or  four  francs  for  men,  and 
one  franc,  or  nothing,  for  women.  The  ballroom  is  arranged 
with  considerable  taste,  brilliantly  lighted,  and  excellent  music 
is  furnished.  Any  one  can  dance  who  wishes.  The  women 
can  be  had  for  the  asking,  for  a  bouquet  and  a  bottle  of  wine. 
They  are  very  ready  to  be  the  partner  of  any  stranger,  for 
they  believe  the  acquaintance  may  prove  advantageous. 

Not  a  few  of  the  cocottes  are  pretty  and  genteel.  They  are 
all  young,  and  have  the  engaging  manner  so  common  to  the 
French.  They  are  dressed  very  well,  though  with  more  of  a 
view  to  physical  display  than  modesty.  They  seem  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  and  are  wholly  free  from  that  hardness  and  con- 
strained gayety  that  mark  the  frail  sisterhood  in  our  country. 
They  seem  to  have  violated  no  law  of  their  being  by  the  life 
they  lead.  They  appear  born  and  fitted  to  it.  If  they  have 
any  aspiration  above  and  beyond  it,  they  do  not  show  it. 
Their  training  has  been  peculiar — they  have  little  to  look  for- 
ward to,  and  little  to  regret.     To  enjoy  themselves  through  the 


THE  DANCE  PLACES.  151 

senses,  to  dress  well,  to  be  admired,  is  all  they  wish.  With  a 
new  robe,  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux,  a  bright  afternoon,  and  an  in- 
dulgent friend,  they  have  all  they  require.  They  have  a  ca- 
pacity to  live  in  the  hour,  in  the  moment,  which  is  quite  for- 
eign to  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  While  the  wine  flows,  and 
laughter  ripples,  and  kisses  blossom,  they  have  no  care  for  to- 
morrow, no  memory  of  yesterday.  In  the  midst  of  the  dance, 
while  they  whirl  under  the  gaslight  with  flushed  cheeks,  and 
throbbing  bosoms,  and  sparkling  eyes,  they  are  as  happy  as 
they  can  be ,  for  the  madness  of  the  hour  fills  them  to  over- 
flowing, and  their  bodies  are  steeped  in  the  intoxication  of  the 
senses.  They  ought  to  be  very  miserable ;  but  they  are 
nothing  of  the  kind,  and  only  sickness,  or  old  age,  or  poverty, 
can  bring  them  discontent.  When  that  comes,  a  few  centimes 
will  buy  charcoal,  and  then  oblivion  and  a  pauper's  grave. 

The  Valentino  and  Casino  usually  close  at  midnight,  and 
the  Chateau  Rouge  is  frequently  dull.  The  Closerie  is  the 
most  varied  and  natural,  for  there  the  French  students  and 
artists  of  the  Latin  Quarter  go  for  what  they  consider  a  de- 
lightful revel.  They  take  their  mistresses,  and  drink,  and 
laugh,  and  make  merry,  after  a  very  intense  fashion.  Such 
grimaces,  such  antics,  such  badinage,  such  drollery,  can't  be 
witnessed  elsewhere.  They  have  masquerades  every  now  and 
then,  and  the  costumes  and  masks  are  of  the  most  remarkable 
kind.  More  license  is  permitted  then,  and  they  accept  it  to 
the  fullest.  They  are  said  to  have  limitations  in  their  extrava- 
gance, but  I  can't  see  what  the  limitations  are.  If  there  is 
anything  more  they  can  do,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive. 

The  Closerie  is  the  most  eccentric  of  the  dance-places,  and 
gives  a  very  correct,  though  not  very  favorable,  idea  of  the 
student  life  of  Paris.  Not  infrequently  quarrels  begun  there 
lead  to  duels ;  but  there  are  never  any  blows  or  knock-downs, 
as  with  us.  Frenchmen  of  culture  rarely  strike  each  other. 
They  offer  insults,  and  fight  with  weapons.  The  use  of  the 
fist  is  deemed  a  brutality  among  the  educated  classes. 

The  Mabille  is  the  most  attractive  place  for  the  balls,  and 
is  seen  at  its  height  in  summer.     On  a  warm  evening,  and  the 


152  DROLL  DOINGS. 

occasion  of  a  fete,  the  garden  is  crowded,  strangers  being  in 
the  majority.  Church-members  of  culture  and  position,  from 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  go  to  the  Mabille  sometimes  on  ac- 
count of  its  notoriety ;  but  they  would  deny  the  fact  stoutly, 
if  charged  with  it  at  home. 

The  dancers,  almost  without  exception,  are  professionals. 
The  women  are  elaborately  prepared  for  the  entertainment 
they  give.  They  wear  street  dresses,  but  are  otherwise  clad 
like  ballet-girls.  When  they  begin  dancing  they  are  often 
decorous ;  but  as  the  evening  advances,  and  they  warm  with 
exercise  and  wine,  they  give  themselves  the  largest  freedom. 
If  they  were  on  the  stage  in  short  skirts,  you  would  think 
nothing  of  their  poses  and  pirouettes ;  but  in  the  ordinary 
apparel,  their  movements  seem  very  different. 

"What  they  suggest  is  even  more  than  what  they  do.  "While 
executing  a  single  quadrille,  they  leap,  and  kick,  and  whirl 
about  in  a  most  bewildering  manner.  But  even  such  dancing 
is  eclipsed  by  the  can-can,  which,  as  executed  there,  is  simply 
lasciviousness  set  to  music.  It  has  often  been  said  that  the 
can-can  at  the  opera  bouffe  in  New  York  is  more  licentious 
than  at  the  Mabille  in  Paris.  Those  who  make  the  statement 
are  either  ignorant  or  they  wilfully  misrepresent.  The  can- 
can could  not  be  danced  in  America  as  it  is  at  the  Mabille  or 
the  Closerie. 

They  do  droll  things  in  Paris.  Not  long  since,  as  the 
story  goes,  a  Frenchman  in  good  position,  wishing  to  get  rid 
of  his  wife,  and  having  no  excuse  for  separation,  introduced 
his  friend  to  her,  with  the  express  understanding  that  the  friend 
should  use  his  best  endeavors  to  win  her  heart.  The  husband, 
of  course,  furnished  the  largest  opportunities  to  the  two  to  be 
together,  and  treated  his  spouse  so  coolly  that  she  became  con- 
vinced of  his  indifference.  The  friend,  on  the  contrary,  was 
gallant,  tender,  and  devoted ;  was  always  in  madame's  society, 
and  actually  became  very  fond  of  her.  The  desired  result. was 
brought  about ;  but  to  conceal  their  plot  against  the  woman, 
the  two  men  had  a  sham  duel,  and,  after  firing  their  balless 
pistols,  got  merry  over  Beaujolais  at  Yefour's. 


AN  AFFECTING   ROMANCE.  153 

All  three  are  contented.  Feminine  hearts  and  masculine 
consciences  are  so  elastic  on  the  Seine  they  can  accommodate 
themselves  to  every  situation. 

An  artist  who  carved  the  group  of  dancers  before  the  new 
opera  house,  was  violently  attacked,  by  some  of  the  critics,  for 
his  work.  The  statue  is  really  meritorious ;  but  the  sculptor 
was  likely  to  be  ruined  by  the  censure  heaped  upon  him,  par- 
ticularly as  he  had  no  reputation.  The  poor  fellow  was  in 
despair ;  but  one  of  his  friends  unknown  to  him,  had  a  rem- 
edy for  his  woe. 

The  friend  employed  somebody  to  throw  a  bottle  of  ink  on 
the  statue,  and  for  days  its  whiteness  bore  the  vast  black  stain. 
Everybody  that  passed  on  the  Boulevards  observed  the  marble ; 
denounced  the  vandalism ;  grew  into  sympathy  with  the  artist, 
and  praised  his  statue.  Photographs,  by  the  hundred,  were 
taken  of  the  group,  and  it  and  its  carver  became  famous.  The 
artist's  fortune  is  made,  and  all  by  a  little  ink,  which,  however, 
properly  bestowed,  has  often  had  a  similar  effect. 

Passing  the  Morgue  one  day,  I  thought  I  would  step  in. 
There  were  several  bodies  there,  one  of  them  that  of  a  young 
woman.  While  regarding  it  attentively  through  the  glass, 
and  imagining  what  the  departed  life  had  been,  a  well-dressed 
man  came  up,  touched  his  hat,  and  asked  me  if  I  were  a  writer 
for  the  press. 

The  question  was  impertinent;  but  I  make  it  a  rule  in 
travelling  not  to  repress  any  one  likely  to  give  me  information. 

I  replied  affirmatively. 

"  I  thought  I  was  right,"  said  the  man ;  "  for  I  believed 
by  the  expression  of  your  face  you  were  arranging  the  life  of 
that  poor  creature  (pointing  to  the  corpse)  into  different  chap- 
ters. Our  Parisian  journalists  are  constantly  looking  for  ma- 
terial here.  They  search  for  fueilletons  all  over  Paris.  Do 
you  know  the  history  of  that  young  woman?" 

"  I  do  not,  indeed." 

"Hers  was  a  sad  fate.  To  think  she  should  have  come  to 
such  an  end  after  all ! " 

"Did  you  know  her,  then?"  I  inquired,  my  interest  rising. 


154  A    GOOD  STORY  SPOILED. 

"Of  course;  everybody  knew  her.  You  remember  Cla- 
risse  Demorne,  whom  they  used  to  call  'La  Belle  Reine'  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  of  her." 

"  That  is  strange.  Would  you  like  to  ?  I  remember  her 
when  she  was  lovely  as  an  angel,  and  all  eyes  followed  her 
gilded  carriage  in  the  Bois." 

"  Yes ;  I  should  be  glad  to  learn  her  history." 

Then  the  man  told,  in  very  graceful  style,  that  the  poor 
woman  who  lay  there  on  the  slab  was,  a  few  years  ago,  the 
queen  of  the  demi-monde,  and  considered  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  Paris.     She  wras  for  a  long  while  the  mistress  of 

Count  de  M ,  who  left  her  when  he  married.     Then  she 

found  a  protector  in  a  Russian  prince,  who  gave  her  a  splendid 
establishment.  Season  after  season  she  floated  on  a  bright 
stream  of  pleasure.  At  last  she  fell  in  love  with  a  wretched 
croupier  at  Ems.  She  became  his  wife.  He  spent  every  franc 
she  had,  and  abused  her  shamefully.  He  broke  her  spirit  and 
her  heart.  She  lived  in  poverty  for  months  at  Cologne,  and 
returned  last  spring  to  Paris,  a  wreck  of  her  former  self. 
That  morning  her  body  was  found  in  the  Seine. 

This  he  related  at  length,  and  with  so  many  embellish- 
ments, with  so  much  of  a  professional  story-teller's  manner, 
that  I  handed  him  a  couple  of  francs  for  his  trouble,  when  he 
had  concluded.  After  he  had  walked  away  I  began  to  doubt 
his  authority,  for  he  knew  too  much  of  Clarisse  Demorne  for 
any  man  who  had  not  been  her  confidante.  Desirous  to  satisfy 
myself,  I  asked  one  of  the  officials  at  the  Morgue,  and  learned 
that  the  body  was  that  of  an  unfortunate  blind  beggar,  who, 
coming  to  the  Seine  for  water,  had  fallen  in  and  been  drowned. 
The  corpse  had  just  been  identified.  I  mentioned  the  tale  of 
my  informant,  and  the  official  laughed,  saying,  "  He  is  a  racon- 
teur (a  tale-teller),  who  was  once  a  writer  of  novels,  and  who, 
it  is  said,  now  makes  a  livelihood  by  furnishing  plots  and  situ- 
ations for  authors  and  dramatists.  He  is  naturally  a  flaneur 
(loafer) ;  too  lazy  to  work,  he  is  contented  to  get  a  few  francs, 
and  narrate  his  imaginary  experiences  over  a  bottle  of  wine,  to 
his  boon  companions  in  the  Quartier  Latin." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ROMANCE   AND   MURDER   IN   PARIS. 

HERE  is  nothing  the  gay  capital  of  civi- 
lization enjoys  more  than  a  first-class 
murder — one  of  the  grand,  melodramatic 
sort,  fairly  swimming  in  blood,  and  brist- 
ling with  mystery  and  horror.  One 
would  imagine  that  a  people  so  vivacious, 
so  sensitive,  so  artistic,  so  sensuous, 
would  shrink  from  the  details  of  terrible  crime;  that,  what- 
ever fascination  blood  might  have  had  for  them  originally, 
their  dreadful  Revolution  would  have  cured  them  forever. 
Their  life,  their  art,  their  literature,  prove  otherwise.  They 
are  a  nation  of  opposites  •  they  are  full  of  light  and  shadow, 
of  merriment  and  melancholy,  of  superficiality  and  profundity, 
of  self-indulgence  and'  self-sacrifice,  of  frivolity  and  heroism. 
They  are  master-cooks  and  master-dancers ;  but  they  are  great 
thinkers  and  great  doers  also. 

They  give  us  our  fashions  in  dress  and  our  best  treatises  on 
military  warfare.  They  invent  new  soups  and  discover  new 
planets  on  the  same  day.  They  publish  charmingly  question- 
able stories  and  the  deepest  studies  of  science.  Their  women, 
the  most  graceful  and  engaging  in  the  world,  leave  off"  flirta- 
tion to  ponder  the  most  abstruse  problems  of  astronomy ;  and 
quit  Calculus  to  devour  with  caresses  the  man  they  love. 
The  French  deserve  to  be  called  the  modern  Greeks ;  and  yet 
the  two  are  very  unlike.  The  French  have  no  parallel ;  for 
with  all  their  variations  they  are  consistent.  Perhaps  it  is  true 
that  there  are  two  kinds  of  nature — human  nature  and  French 


156  LOVE   OF  SENSATION. 

nature ;  but  French  nature  seems  often  to  have  the  better  of 
it.  No  nation  has  been  more  misunderstood,  in  spite  of  its 
prodigies  of  performance ;  and  it  is  only  now  the  French  are 
beginning  to  get  full  credit  for  their  versatility  and  greatness. 
Their  cleverness  in  little  things  withdrew  attention  from  their 
accomplishment  of  great  things.  Their  prowess  in  war  and 
their  progress  in  science  were  forgotten  while  their  ragouts 
and  ballet-dances  were  remembered. 

I  was  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  famous  Traupmann 
murder,  and  it  was  curious  to  notice  how  completely  the  city 
surrendered  itself  to  the  prevailing  sensation.  It  wholly  out- 
did any  American  city  in  its  hunger  for  the  latest  news,  about 
which  it  usually  cares  very  little.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but 
the  tragedy  of  Aubervilliers.  It  engrossed  every  grade  of 
society.  Speculators  on  the  Bourse,  before  they  spoke  of  the 
quotation  of  rentes,  inquired  about  Traupmann.  Even  Louis 
Napoleon's  health,  which  was  as  common  a  topic  in  France  as 
the  weather  in  America,  lost  its  interest.  The  kiosks  on  the 
Boulevards  were  besieged  long  before  the  daily  journals  were 
issued.  Duchesses  and  the  demi-mondeists,  grave  ministers  and 
austere  priests,  the  members  of  the  Academy  and  the  street 
gamins,  all  pored  over  the  highly  spiced  accounts  in  the  Gau- 
lois  and  Figaro.  Such  heavy  journals  as  the  Pays  and  Moni- 
teur,  generally  sought  only  for  their  soporific  effects,  abandoned 
themselves  to  the  raging  mania.  They  discussed  the  murder 
in  all  its  bearings,  and  furnished  the  very  latest  intelligence 
from  Pantin  and  the  Mazas,  where  the  assassin  was  confined. 

Every  man,  woman  and  child  in  Paris  had  a  theory  re- 
specting the  murder,  and  the  gossiping  journalists  were  in  a 
positive  state  of  beatitude  at  the  opportunity  afforded  them 
for  interweaving  endless  fancies  with  their  slender  facts.  In 
every  edition  they  improved  upon  the  story.  The  murderer 
and  the  murdered  were  limned  in  most  fantastic  colors.  Poor 
Madame  Kinck,  a  very  plain,  uneducated  Alsatian  peasant 
grew  to  be  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  woman,  and  her  chil- 
dren perfect  cherubim  in  loveliness. 

The  French  writers  will  not  permit  anything  to  appear  in 


A  BEWILDERED    WAITER.  157 

print  as  it  really  is.  It  must  first  receive  a  Parisian  varnish, 
consisting  of  a  strong  mixture  of  sentiment  and  melodrama, 
and  be  treated  artistically. 

The  Parisians  love  the  terrible  no  less  than  the  tender,  the 
shocking  no  less  than  the  sentimental. 

The  man  who,  some  years  ago,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  cut 
off  his  mistress'  head  and  buried  it  with  flowers,  left  a  senti- 
mental note  declaring  he  killed  her  because  he  loved  her;  fled 
to  Spain,  turned  priest,  and  was  afterward  killed  in  a  duel 
about  a  woman,  was  thoroughly  French.  Whatever  their 
idiosyncrasies,  they  are  agreeable  and  interesting,  none  the 
less  because  they  are  self-conscious  in  the  extreme,  and  live 
only  for  the  world. 

Paris  does  not  expect  any  man  to  lead  a  life  of  strict 
celibacy.  I  remember  this  story  told  by  a  young  companion 
and  countryman : 

I  used  to  be  amused  at  the  bewildered  air  of  the  garcon, 
who  brought  my  coffee  to  my  lodgings  in  the  morning.  When 
I  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  coffee  for  one,  he  seemed  incapa- 
ble of  understanding  it. 

"  For  two  ?  monsieur  said." 

"No;  for  one,  garcon." 

"  But  the  coffee-pot  will  not  hold  two  cups." 

"  I  don't  want  two  cups,  garcon." 

"  Ah,  yes  (musingly),  when  young  people  are  very  fond, 
they  like  to  drink  out  of  the  same  cup.  Monsieur  should  be 
French,  for  he  is  gallant." 

"  I  have  no  one  to  drink  out  of  the  cup  with  me.  I  want 
it  for  myself  alone.     Go,  and  do  as  I  bid  you." 

The  garcon,  looking  distrust,  departs  lingeringly. 

The  next  morning  he  is  very  attentive,  as  if  I  required 
comforting,  and  I  give  him  something  for  his  solicitude. 

The  third  morning  he  indulges  the  hope  that  Mademoi- 
selle is  well,  and  is  confident  she  must  be  happy.  Amused 
at  the  fellow's  pertinacity,  I  inform  him  I  do  not  know  Made- 
moiselle, and  have  no  desire  to.  At  this  he  heaves  a  deep  sigh, 
and  casts  a  look  of  profound  pity  upon  me.      The  fourth 


158  A   POPULAR  SINGER. 

evening  and  the  fifth  his  face  preserves  its  sadness.  On  the 
sixth  he  begs  to  inquire  the  land  of  my  nativity,  and  I  tell 
him.  On  the  seventh  he  loiters  in  the  apartment,  and,  seeing 
he  has  something  on  his  mind,  I  ask  him  what  he  has  to  say. 
Then  he  relieves  himself  as  follows*  "America  must  be  a 
strange  country.     Do  all  the  men  there  hate  women  % " 

That  is  very  like  a  Frenchman.  He  concludes  that  any 
gentleman  who  may  choose  to  breakfast  alone  for  a  week 
must  necessarily  be  an  uncompromising  enemy  of  all  woman- 
kind. 

Theresa,  who,  from  some  inexplicable  cause,  preserves  her 
popularity,  appeared  in  La  Chatte  Blanche  up  to  the  time  of 
the  siege  of  Paris,  and  sang  several  songs,  one  or  two  of  a 
pathetic  character.  The  audience  grew  wild  over  her;  and 
yet  there  was  something  positively  grotesque  to  my  mind  in  a 
coarse,  vulgar-looking  woman,  who  might  have  been  imported 
from  Billingsgate,  attempting  to  touch  the  heart  with  a  few 
indifferently  executed  bars  of  ordinary  music. 

On  the  day  when  all  mysteries  are  revealed,  it  will  perhaps 
be  known  how  a  common  creature  like  Theresa  found  it  possi- 
ble to  fascinate  the  fastidious  and  elegant  Parisians. 

The  original  of  Camille  now  lies  in  Pere  la  Chaise,  under 
a  plain  marble  monument,  marked  simply,  "Par  amour  d 
Marie  Duplessis."  Such  was  the  real  name  of  the  renowned 
lorette,  who  was  a  beautiful,  elegant,  and  accomplished  woman. 
She  led  very  much  such  a  life  as  Dumas,  Jils,  has  described  in 
his  play.  After  two  years  of  gilded  dissipation,  a  young 
and  very  romantic  physician  met  her  at  an  opera  ball.  They 
fell  in  love  with  each  other,  and  he  wanted  to  marry  her  at 
once.  She  would  not  permit  him  to  do  so  ;  but  she  dismissed 
her  admirers,  gave  up  her  establishment,  bought  a  pretty  cot- 
tage near  Versailles,  and  invited  him  to  it.  He  held  the  tran- 
scendental doctrine  that  true  love  restores  to  a  woman  the 
chastity  she  has  lost ;  but  still  she  would  not  be  her  friend's 
wife  on  account  of  his  family,  which  was  good,  but  not  in  pros- 
perous circumstances.  The  physician — the  Armand  of  the 
drama — was  infatuated  with  Marie,  said  to  have  been  a  charm- 


THE   ORIGINAL    CAMILLE.  159 

ing  creature,  in  spite  of  her  unconventional  life,  full  of  good- 
ness and  charity,  graces,  and  aspirations.  She  was  a  sentimen- 
talist, and  had  never  accepted  the  protection  of  a  man  she  was 
not  fond  of.  When  the  young  physician  came,  he  was  her 
ideal ;  for  he  was  fresh  in  feeling,  chivalrous  in  conduct,  poetic 
in  temperament.  Willing  to  sacrifice  everything  for  him,  she 
could  not  bear  to  bind  him  to  her  by  a  tie  he  might  regret. 

Marie  and  her  lover  dwelt  together  after  the  Arcadian  fash- 
ion, near  Versailles,  until  the  father  interfered.  Of  course, 
the  old  gentleman  had  no  objection  to  his  son  having  a  mis- 
tress— that  is  the  rule  in  Paris — but  he  was  unwilling  his 
only  boy  should  give  up  his  profession  and  all  ambition  for  a 
lorette.  He  saw  them  both,  and  read  them  a  moral  lecture. 
Marie  besought  her  friend  to  leave  her ;  at  least  to  travel  for  a 
year  ;  that,  hard  as  was  the  sacrifice,  she  was  willing  to  make 
it  for  the  love  that  is  above  all  passion.  So  urged  by  his  mis- 
tress and  his  father,  he  went  to  Italy  for  two  years. 

When  he  had  been  gone  ten  months,  Marie,  who  had  lived 
the  life  of  a  recluse,  died,  the  medical  men  said,  of  rapid  con- 
sumption; the  sentimentalists  declared,  of  a  broken  heart. 
Her  elegant  furniture  at  the  cottage  was  sold.  Her  death 
made  a  noise  in  Paris,  and  the  auction  created  a  sensation.  A 
crowd  was  present,  and,  among  other  literary  men,  young 
Dumas.  He  bought  a  diamond  ring  that  Marie  had  worn,  and 
carried  it  home.  Two  months  after  a  pale  youth  called  on 
Dumas  to  see  if  he  could  purchase  the  ring.  The  youth  was 
Marie's  lover — the  Armand  of  the  drama.  He  told  the  author 
his  story,  and  "  Camille  "  was  the  consequence. 

The  lover  did  not  expect  to  live  through  the  winter.  He 
is  alive  now,  a  husband  and  father,  having  married  a  fortune 
and  a  widow. 

Usually,  the  French,  like  the  German  students,  are  not  very 
attractive  in  person,  manners,  or  character.  Nor  are  they  roman- 
tic or  distingue  in  appearance.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  usu- 
ally commonplace,  under- bred,  material,  and  selfish,  and  the  life 
they  lead  is  enough  to  demoralize  St.  Jerome.  I  have  never  seen 
but  one  model  student  at  the  Closerie.     He  had  a  pale,  classical 


160  CONVENIENCE   OF  SPEAKING  FRENCH. 

face,  wore  a  dark  moustache  and  long  hair  falling  over  a  broad 
Byron  collar,  a  black  velvet  coat  and  top  boots.  He  was  about 
one-and-twenty,  but  had  evidently  exhausted  his  capacity  for 
emotion.  He  did  not  dance,  and  all  the  entreaties  of  the  young 
women  could  not  prevail  upon  him.  He  lounged  through 
the  crowd  smoking  his  pipe,  wholly  indifferent  to  the  clamor 
and  dissipation  around  him.  Ko  terms  of  endearment  won 
him.  He  unloosed  himself  laughingly  from  caressing  arms  and 
declined  offered  lips  at  every  turn. 

"  You  know  I  love  you,"  cried  a  little  creature,  "  and  yet 
you  turn  away  from  me  as  if  I  were  not  pretty." 

"  Yes,  my  child,"  he  answered  patronizingly ;  "  I  have 
learned  my  role.  You  are  willing  to  come  to  my  heart  be- 
cause you  know  you  cannot  bring  me  to  your  feet.  If  you 
thought  I  really  cared  for  you,  you  would  desert  me  to-morrow. 
You  women  worship  what  you  cannot  reach.  Love  is  for  boys, 
philosophy  for  men ; "  and  the  young  coxcomb  sauntered  off, 
blowing  clouds  of  smoke. 

I  have  frequently  heard  that  persons  who  speak  nothing 
but  English  get  along  very  readily  on  the  Continent.  I  don't 
see  how  they  do  it ;  for  I  found  that  my  Trench,  much  as  I  had 
forgotten  of  it,  stood  me  in  good  6tead.  The  language  may 
not  be  absolutely  necessary ;  but  it  is  certainly  very  convenient. 
It  must  be  awkward  in  the  extreme  to  be  in  a  foreign  country 
and  not  know  a  word  of  its  tongue.  Such  ignorance  ought  to 
contribute  to  the  development  of  a  man's  pantomimic  powers. 
I  have  seen  persons  entirely  undemonstrative  naturally,  gestic- 
ulating to  the  drivers  of  cabriolets,  keepers  of  restaurants, 
and  valets  de  place  in  a  manner  that  would"  have  done  credit 
to  the  Ravels.  In  their  efforts  to  make  themselves  understood 
they  wasted  more  mental  force  than  would  have  been  required 
to  obtain  a  tolerable  acquaintance  with  the  French  stock  phrases 
so  convenient  for  the  Continent. 


1.   TONT  NEUF,   TARIS.      2.   THE  TUILERIES,   PARIS.      3.   THE  SENATE   01    FRANCE. 


CHAPTEK    XIX. 


CATACOMBS    OF    PARIS. 

HE  Catacombs  of  Paris  are  a  city  of  the  dead 
underneath  the  beautiful  capital  of  France, 
and  contain  a  silent  population  nearly  double 
that  above  ground.  It  is  estimated  that  they 
hold  the  remains  of  about  three  millions  and 
a  half  of  hmnan  beings,  while  not  more  than  two 
millions  live  in  the  upper  world. 

The  Catacombs  of  Paris  are  not,  strictly  speaking, 
subterranean  places  for  burying  the  dead  as  they  are  in 
Egypt,  Rome,  Naples  and  Palermo.  They  were  originally 
the  quarries  out  of  which  the  stone  was  taken  for  building 
purposes.  They  lie  under  the  southern  part  of  the  city,  and 
completely  undermine  the  observatory,  the  Luxembourg  Palace, 
the  Pantheon  Church,  La  Harpe,  St.  Jacques,  Yaugirard  and 
many  other  streets  in  that  quarter.  Their  extent  is  something 
like  three  millions  of  square  yards,  one-tenth  of  the  whole 
surface  occupied  by  the  gay  city.  The  Catacombs  are  proba- 
bly twelye  or  thirteen  hundred  years  old,  and  long  before  they 
were  used  as  cemeteries,  which  was  of  recent  date,  thieves, 
robbers,  murderers  and  criminals  of  every  kind  sought  refuge 
there  from  justice  and  the  law. 

In  1784,  some  part  of  the  quarries  gave  way,  and  it  became 
necessary  for  skilful  engineers  to  descend  into  them,  and  make 
them  more  secure,  lest  the  houses  and  streets  above  them 
should  break  through  the  thin  shell,  and  cause  great  destruc- 
tion of  property  and  life. 

"While  the  engineers  were  at  work,  it  was  determined  to 
11 


162  AN   UNDERGROUND   EXCURSION. 

remove  the  dead  from  the  graves  of  the  Cemetery  of  the  Inno- 
cents, which  stood  on  the  site  of  the  present  principal  market, 
known  as  the  Halles  Centrales.  No  better  or  more  fitting 
place  could  he  found  for  the  deposit  of  the  remains,  than  those 
ancient  excavations.  Other  burial  places  required  to  be  re- 
moved, and  consequently  on  the  7th  of  April,  1786,  the  Cata- 
combs were  formally  consecrated  to  the  purpose  to  which  they 
have  since  been  devoted.  The  human  bones  were  taken  from 
the  cemeteries  at  night,  in  funeral  cars,  accompanied  by  priests 
chanting  the  Catholic  service  for  the  dead,  and  on  arrival  at 
the  Catacombs,  were  thrown  down  a  shaft  in  such  a  helter- 
skelter  manner,  that  the  relics  of  noblemen  and  peasants, 
reformers  and  robbers,  poets,  bishops,  wealthy  merchants  and 
beggars  were  irretrievably  mixed  together.  The  bones  from 
one  cemetery  were  kept  apart  from  those  of  another;  but 
beyond  this  no  order  was  followed  until  1810,  when  a  regular 
plan  of  arrangement  was  begun. 

There  used  to  be  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  admission  to  the 
Catacombs ;  but  the  occurrence  of  a  number  of  accidents  and 
the  insecurity  of  the  gloomy  vaults  prevented  the  authorities 
from  opening  them  to  the  public  more  than  once  a  year — 
about  the  first  of  October — when  a  limited  number  of  persons, 
after  obtaining  tickets  from  the  Inspector- General  of  the  quar- 
ries, are  allowed  to  accompany  him  in  his  annual  tour  of  in- 
spection. There  are  forty  or  fifty  entrances ;  but  the  principal 
one  is  at  the  Barriere  d'Enfer — a  gloomy  name  for  a  gloomy 
place — and  it  was  there  I  entered  them  last  Autumn,  having  a 
curiosity  to  see  how  dismal  they  were. 

As  usually  happens,  quite  a  party  had  assembled  to  make 
the  excursion.  "We  had  provided  ourselves  with  wax  tapers  or 
candles,  each  of  us  lighting  and  carrying  one  as  we  went 
through  the  doorway  down  a  circular  flight  of  ninety  stone 
steps.  At  the  bottom  are  a  number  of  galleries  running  in 
different  directions.  A  guide  placed  himself  at  our  head,  and 
asking  if  we  were  all  ready,  we  set  out  on  the  melancholy 
journey. 

The  first  passage  in  which  we  found  ourselves,  and  which, 


UNKNOWN  PASSAGES.  163 

t  • 

like  many  others,  is  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock,  is  three  or  four 
feet  wide,  and  about  six  feet  high,  making  it  difficult  for  more 
than  two  persons  to  walk  abreast,  and  compelling  tall  men  to 
stoop  somewhat.  There  were  several  Americans  and  English- 
men in  our  party  whom  nature  evidently  had  not  designed  for 
such  explorations.  Their  hats  and  heads  frequently  came  in 
contact  with  the  rocky  ceiling  much  to  their  annoyance,  and 
they  declared  that,  if  they  remained  down  there  for  any  length 
of  time,  they  must  either  be  shortened  or  become  round- 
shouldered. 

The  Catacombs  are  laid  out  like  a  city  with  different  passa- 
ges corresponding  to  streets,  the  names  carved  at  the  top,  and 
two  arrows  painted  on  the  wall,  one  pointing  to  the  interior 
and  the  other  to  the  main  entrance.  The  walls  were  damp  and 
frequently  wet ;  the  water  not  only  dropping  from  the  roof, 
but  sometimes  running  through  in  streams,  and  showing  now 
and  then  large  cracks  and  crevices  as  if  the  whole  might  tum- 
ble down  over  our  heads,  and  either  crush  us  or  bury  us  alive. 
I  observed,  indeed,  that  in  some  places  the  roof  had  fallen  in, 
and  I  could  not  help  but  notice  that  not  a  few  of  my  com- 
panions felt  very  nervous  lest  they  should  never  get  out  of  the 
dreary  caverns.  One  or  two  Englishmen  seemed  to  be  very 
angry  at  themselves  for  going  into  what  they  called  such  a 
"blasted  'ole,"  and  expressed  much  indignation  at  the  authori- 
ties for  bringing  them  into  it,  evidently  forgetting  that  they 
had  sought  the  permission  which  had  been  somewhat  reluc- 
tantly granted. 

As  we  walked  or  rather  groped  along  in  the  darkness,  only 
feebly  lighted  by  our  flickering  candles,  we  occasionally  passed 
a  deep  hole  or  pit.  I  lowered  my  light  without  being  able  to 
discover  anything  but  a  very  deep  and  impenetrable  blackness. 
I  also  noticed  a  number  of  passages  branching  off  from  that 
in  which  we  were,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  exploring  some 
of  them  until  informed,  by  the  guide  that  it  was  strictly  forbid- 
den, as  any  one  was  likely  to  lose  his  way,  and  die  of  starvation 
before  he  could  be  found.  We  turned  several  corners,  and 
learned  from  the  guide-board  that  we  were  under  the  Sceaux 


164  A   GHOSTLY  EXPERIENCE. 

railway  station,  more  than  three  hundred  yards  from  the  place 
where  we  had  entered.  We  could  tell  from  the  names  cut  in 
the  walls  under  what  streets  or  buildings  we  were,  and  it 
seemed  very  strange  we  should  now  be  beneath  a  boulevard  or 
avenue,  and  then  under  some  church  or  public  institution 
which  we  had  walked  in  and  visited  frequently  without  think- 
ing that  the  famous  Catacombs  were  only  forty  or  fifty  feet 
below. 

In  less  than  twenty  minutes  we  reached  the  door  leading 
into  the  enclosure  containing  the  remains  of  the  dead.  Over 
the  door  is  a  Latin  inscription,  "  Within  these  boundaries  repose 
those  who  wait  a  blessed  immortality."  We  stepped  inside 
and  found  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  what  seemed  to  be 
millions  of  skeletons  heaped  up  on  every  hand.  The  passages 
we  had  entered  were  broader  and  much  higher  than  those  we 
had  gone  through,  and  closer  observation  showed  me  that  what 
I  had  supposed  to  be  skeletons  were  merely  bones  and  skulls 
piled  on  each  side  nearly  to  the  roof,  which  is  some  ten  feet  in 
height.  The  bones  exposed  to  view  are  the  arm,  leg  and  thigh 
bones  with  three  rows  of  skulls  at  equal  distances,  while  the 
smaller  bones  of  the  body  are  thrown  in  behind. 

The  skulls  with  the  ghastly  holes  where  the  eyes  had  been, 
and  the  upper  jaws  partially  filled  with  teeth,  glared  vacantly 
and  grinned  hideously  upon  each  other,  and  upon  us  as  we 
passed  along.  And  in  the  light  and  shadow  our  candles  cast 
upon  the  dismal  scene,  the  skulls  appeared  as  if  they  were 
moving  to  and  fro  in  some  wild  and  terrible  dance  of  death. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  series  of  chambers  of  horrors  in  which  the 
ghosts  of  hundreds  of  years  seemed  making  a  mournful  mim- 
icry of  the  life  they  had  left.  A  damp  and  grave-like  odor 
filled  the  air,  and  when  we  spoke  our  voices  sounded  hollow 
and  dismal,  as  if  we  ourselves  were  dying  in  the  presence  of 
the  dead. 

In  some  places,  I  observed  skulls  arranged  in  the  form  of  a 
cross  set  into  the  wall — an  association  of  death  and  religion 
which  would  have  delighted  the  monks  of  the  old  time,  and 
would  no  doubt  be  pleasant  in  the  sight  of  many  of  the  holy 


APPROPRIATE  INSCRIPTIONS.  165 

fathers  still  occupying  the  monasteries  of  Rome.  Some  of  the 
skulls  had  bullet-holes  through  them,  and  were  those  of  men 
killed  during  the  revolutions.  Many  others  belonged  to  the 
victims  of  the  guillotine  so  actively  employed  during  the 
terrible  massacres  of  1793.  Several  of  the  galleries  led  to 
chambers,  somewhat  resembling  chapels,  and  called  "  Tomb  of 
the  Revolution,"  and  "  Tomb  of  Victims,"  because  in  them  are 
preserved  the  remains  of  those  beheaded  or  killed  •  during  the 
times  when  blood  flowed  like  water  in  the  streets  of  Paris. 

There  was  no  end  of  the  bone-lined  corridors  running  in 
every  direction,  and  so  confused  that  it  was  very  easy  to  lose 
one's  way.  A  number  of  persons  have  at  different  times  been 
lost  in  the  Catacombs,  and  though  most  of  them  have  been 
rescued,  some  have  perished  miserably.  They  must  have 
striven  vainly  to  get  out  of  the  dark  labyrinth,  until,  exhausted 
from  terror,  weakness  and  hunger,  they  could  go  no  further, 
sank  down  and  died. 

The  bones  in  the  Catacombs  have  been  taken  from  more 
than  twenty  different  cemeteries,  including  the  three  best 
known,  Montmartre,  Mont  Parnasse  and  Pere  la  Chaise.  Only 
the  poor  and  unknown  persons  are  removed  from  the  present 
cemeteries.  They  having  had  no  money,  and  being  without 
friends,  are  compelled  to  make  room  for  those  who  have  been 
more  fortunate  in  life,  and  are  even  more  fortunate  in  death. 

In  addition  to  the  names  of  the  various  localities  under 
which  the  passages  are,  and  of  the  cemeteries  from  which  the 
remains  are  taken,  there  are  carved  upon  the  walls  inscriptions 
in  French  such  as  these : 

"  Death  reduces  us  all  to  the  same  level,  and  difference  of 
rank  is  lost  in  the  grave." 

"  Happy  is  he  who  has  the  hour  of  death  ever  before  his 
eyes." 

"  Be  not  proud,  O  mortal,  for  here  thy  short-lived  glory 
ends." 

"  Think  of  God  in  the  midst  of  thy  pleasure,  for  God  is 
everywhere,  and  watches  over  thee  always." 

After  passing  nearly  three  hours  in  the  Catacombs,  one 


166 


AMONG   THE  LIVING. 


part  of  which  is  very  much  like  any  other,  we  were  conducted 
to  a  circular  staircase,  which  I  supposed  the  same  we  had 
descended.  Being  told  we  had  seen  everything  worth  seeing, 
we  went  up,  and,  opening  a  heavy  door,  found  ourselves  more 
than  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  spot  where  we  had  gone  down. 
The  fresh  air  and  the  bright  sunshine  and  the  beautiful  city 
greeted  us  again,  and  I  could  not  help  a  feeling  of  relief  after 
my  dreary  wandering  in  the  darkness  and  among  the  dead.  I 
remembered  the  inscription  in  the  Catacombs  :  "  Happy  is  he 
who  has  the  hour  of  death  ever  before  his  eyes ; "  but  it  seemed 
to  me,  just  then,  that  he  is  far  happier  who  is  surrounded  by 
the  joys  and  the  comforts  of  life. 


.  i 


^"^,rv"2%^£^^^ 


CHAPTEK    XX. 


SOCIAL    STATUS   OF   PARIS. 

HE  popular  notion  of  Paris,  in  this  coun- 
try, is  that  there  virtue  and  women  seldom 
coexist.      Probably    no    country    on    the 
globe  is  so  much  misunderstood,  morally, 
as  France.     The  women  of  the  capital  are 
thought  to  be  wanton  as  a  rule. 
Talk  to  an  American  of  French  domesticity, 
and  he  would  imagine  you  ironical.     According  to 
his  conception,  a  Parisian  woman,  especially  if  she 
be  married,  passes  her  early  life  in  flirtation,  and 
becomes  loyal  only  when  years  have  cooled  her 
blood  and  impaired  her  charms.     We  even  speak 
of  French  morality,  meaning  every  species  of  im- 
morality, as  if  it  were  the  opposite  of  all  established  opinions 
upon  ethics. 

Such  views  are  not  to  be  wondered  at,  perhaps,  when  we 
remember  that  French  literature  deals  with  subjects  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking people  for  the  most  part  ignore.  It  analyzes 
passion ;  theorizes  upon  the  relation  of  the  sexes ;  gives  a  sen- 
timental and  voluptuous  coloring  to  relations  we  either  deem 
too  sacred  or  too  dangerous  to  write  about.  Secondly,  few 
foreigners,  Anglo-Americans  notably,  have  little,  if  any,  ac- 
quaintance with  the  better  part  of  French  society,  especially 
in  its  domestic  aspects.  Hardly  one  out  of  five  hundred  or  a 
thousand  of  our  nation  who  go  abroad,  gets  a  glimpse  of  the 
life  of  a  French  family,  or  has  any  comprehension  of  the  feel- 
ings or  sympathies  of  a  French  wife  or  mother.     Thirdly,  the 


168  OUTSIDE  AND   INSIDE    VIEWS. 

demi-monde,  recognized,  protected,  even  encouraged  as  a  dis- 
tinct social  element,  is  on  the  surface,  always  approachable, 
easily  accessible,  and  from  that  phase  of  life,  all  Paris,  all 
France,  is  judged. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  show  how  domestic  a  large  part  of 
the  French,  even  of  the  Parisian  population,  are ;  though  any 
one  who  stays  in  France  for  any  length  of  time,  and  seeks  for 
information,  can  readily  disabuse  his  mind  of  preconceived 
opinions.  Paris  is  preeminently  cosmopolitan,  the  centre  to 
which  all  pleasure-seekers  tend,  where  the  senses  are  adminis- 
tered to  in  the  most  agreeable  way.  The  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  of  strangers  constantly  there,  look  for  gayety ; 
dwell  in  externals  merely,  and  when  curiosity  and  pleasure  are 
gratified,  they  go  elsewhere,  forgetting  that  what  they  secretly 
condemn,  they  have  greatly  assisted  to  form  part  of. 

Paris  has  long  been  a  show-city,  and  consequently  is  very 
artificial.  It  takes  no  special  pains  to  conceal ;  it  aims  only  to 
make  decorous.  The  worst  is  on  the  outside ;  the  best  is  hid- 
den ;  while  in  America,  and  England,  too,  we  fancy  we  extin- 
guish what  we  merely  cover.  Our  society  is  perpetually 
being  agitated  by  what  the  newspapers  are  pleased  to  term 
"startling  revelations"  of  a  domestic  and  private  character — a 
set  of  sensations  to  which  Paris  is  unaccustomed.  The  reason 
is,  that  there  sin  is  allowed  to  escape  by  open  channels.  We 
shut  it  up,  and  explosions  are  the  result. 

Paris  is  bad  enough  ;  I  have  no  disposition  to  be  its  apolo- 
gist. But  that  it  is  so  much  worse  than  other  great  cities, 
London  or  New  York,  for  instance,  I  am  unwilling  to  believe. 
Paris  has  had  no  political,  but  it  has  had  moral,  freedom ;  and 
inasmuch  as  human  nature  is  very  much  the  same  everywhere, 
it  by  no  means  follows  that  where  the  largest  liberty  is,  there 
is  the  greatest  evil.  Hurl  deformed  vice  out  of  the  front  win- 
dow, and  it  will  re-enter  by  the  back  door  as  tempting  sin. 

The  demi-monde  is  largely  supported  by  strangers  and 
sojourners  in  the  city.  Confine  Paris  to  its  native  population, 
and  that  middle  world  would  almost  disappear.  The  expenses 
attendant  upon  wedded  life,  and  the  legal  restrictions  upon 


MORAL  IDEAS   OF  PARISIANS.  169 

marriages  are  the  chief  causes  there  of  concubinage.  Thou- 
sands of  men  in  Paris,  not  having  the  means  to  support  a 
household,  prefer  a  mistress  to  miscellaneous  sensuality.  The 
French  believe  the  interests  of  society  will,  like  other  interests, 
take  care  of  themselves.  We  hold  that  they  need  to  be  con- 
served. 

No  doubt  the  Parisians  have  different  moral  ideas  from  our 
own.  They  do  not  regard  unchastity  as  an  unpardonable  sin. 
They  consider  it  more  in  its  spiritual  relation  than  we ;  believ- 
ing that  a  woman  may  have  many  virtues  without  the  one, 
and  have  the  one  without  others — an  opinion  the  Anglo-Saxon 
mind  is  slow,  if  not  unwilling  to  accept.  The  famous  play  of 
Camille  is  an  expression  of  such  belief.  It  was  more  popular 
and  more  denounced  than  any  drama  produced  within  my 
memory.  It  had  its  earnest  defenders  and  its  fierce  rebukers ; 
and  whether  it  be  true  or  false,  beneficial  or  pernicious  in  its 
influence,  is  still  an  unsettled  question. 

From  close  and  impartial  observation,  one  is  led  to  infer 
that  the  life  of  a  lorette  is  not  so  demoralizing  in  France  as  in 
England  or  America.  The  demi-monde  being  recognized, 
the  members  of  it  do  not  suffer  so  much  as  with  us  from  re- 
morse, from  the  feeling  of  being  outcasts.  The  fall  from  con- 
ventional to  unconventional  relations  is  not  so  far  as  in  our 
country,  and  consequently  the  reaction  is  not  so  great. 
Women  of  this  class  have  more  hope,  at  least  less  despond- 
ency, more  cheerfulness,  more  of  a  future,  more  prospect  of 
reformation,  than  with  us. 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  Paris  and  the  cause  of  morality," 
say  some  of  my  readers.  "Unchaste  women  have  no  right  to 
contentment  or  to  expectations.  The  severer  their  punish- 
ment, the  better  the  example.  By  making  vice  hideous,  you 
render  virtue  attractive." 

My  answer  again  is :  "I  am  not  reasoning ;  I  am  not  say- 
ing what  is  better  or  what  is  worse.  I  am  merely  chronicling. 
Inferences  and  conclusions  gratis  to  all  who  wish  to  draw 
them." 

Parisian    lorettes  do  not   become   so    degraded   as  ours. 


1V0  THE  DEMI-MONDE. 

They  do  not,  from  the  top  round  of  temptation  tumble  to  the 
lowest  round  of  sensuality,  and  thence  into  the  kennel  of  de- 
spair. They  do  not  sink  from  one  impure  condition  to  an  ini- 
purer,  until  all  sense  of  shame  is  lost.  They  do  not,  very, 
rarely,  at  least,  seek  oblivion  in  strong  drink  or  opium.  They 
do  not  show  indecency  in  the  streets.  They  do  not  fight  and 
make  public  spectacles  of  themselves.  They  do  not  steal. 
They  are  not  arrested  by  the  police,  and  sent  to  prison.  They 
far  less  frequently  than  our  unfortunates  commit  suicide,  or 
die  miserably  in  the  hospitals.  They  are  much  oftener  re- 
claimed by  a  genuine  affection;  and  not  seldom  they  are  mar- 
ried to  men  who,  knowing  what  their  past  has  been,  forgive 
the  fault  for  the  sake  of  the  contrition. 

"  That  is  all  wrong,"  declare  the  censors.  "  No  one  should 
marry  such  creatures.  If  impure  women  can  find  husbands, 
their  life,  which  should  be  a  warning  and  a  torment,  is  con- 
verted into  a  pleasant  comedy.  The  possibility  of  such  an 
end  to  all  their  sin  is  dangerous  to  believe." 

Answer :  "  That  is  for  the  men  who  marry  them  to  decide. 
Perhaps  those  men  would  say,  '  It  is  better  to  wed  a  woman 
who  confesses  impurity,  and  promises  to  be  pure,  her  promise 
being  guaranteed  by  gratitude  and  affection,  than  to  wed  a  wo- 
man, believing  her  to  be  pure,  who  proves  to  be  otherwise.' " 

There  are  six  spheres  in  the  demi-monde  of  Paris,  each 
distinct,  each  occupied  by  women  who,  being  in  one,  not  very 
often  enter  another. 

The  first  are  women  of  education  and  refinement,  orphans 
or  illegitimate  daughters,  instructed  at  the  expense  of  the 
government,  who,  compelled  to  earn  their  own  livelihood,  are 
thrown  into  contact  with  men  in  a  different  grade  of  society. 
The  girls  form  an  attachment  to  the  men  who  are  fond  of  them, 
but  not  willing  to  marry  them,  because  the  French  do  not  take 
wives  or  husbands  out  of  their  own  station.  The  girls,  who 
have  probably  looked  forward  to  some  such  connection,  become 
the  mistresses  of  their  lovers.  There  is  no  concealment  of  the 
fact  on  either  side ;  for  this  community  admits  of,  negatively 
sanctions,  such  relations.     The  two  live  together.     She  is  loyal, 


THE   GRISETTE.  171 

for  she  loves.  He  supports  her — often  in  luxury.  She  has 
society  like  her  own,  but  not  his  society.  The  connection  con- 
tinues until  he  is  married,  frequently  after,  since  marriages  in 
France — and  this  is  a  fruitful  source  of  such  intimacies — is  de- 
termined by  merely  worldly  considerations.  The  separation  is 
not  so  painful  as  it  might  be,  for  it  has  been  anticipated; 
though  occasionally,  sad  to  relate,  it  makes  a  tragedy  on  one 
side,  and  life-long  remorse  on  the  other.  Frequently  men  re- 
fuse to  marry,  and  live  with  their  mistresses  until  death. 

If  the  mistress  abandons,  or  is  abandoned  by,  her  lover,  she 
goes  into  a  shop  (if  not  already  there),  which  she  can  easily 
do,  as  no  tradesman  in  Paris  inquires  into  moral  antecedents. 
Consequently,  she  is  not,  as  with  us,  shut  out  from  earning  her 
own  livelihood,  if  she  desires.  Her  first  passion  may  have  ex- 
hausted her  heart,  but  that  seldom  happens.  She  is  not  long 
in  finding  a  protector,  whom  she  accepts,  either  for  financial 
or  sentimental  reasons.  Her  new  friend  may,  or  may  not,  be 
in  easy  circumstances.  Whether  he  is  or  not,  she  follows  her 
calling ;  has  apartments  with  him ;  takes  care  of  them ;  is  his 
companion  at  the  concerts  and  theatres  and  on  the  evening 
promenades. 

This  is  the  second  sphere,  which  to  many  poor  and  unpro- 
tected girls  is  the  first. 

The  mistress'  new  relation  does  not  change  her  outward 
life.  She  labors  and  she  loves ;  her  mind  is  employed  and  her 
heart  is  filled.  She  is  as  happy  as  other  women  are,  for  she 
'does  not  believe  herself  polluted  or  degraded,  and  she  has  the 
society  of  girls  whose  circumstances  are  like  her  own.  It 
sometimes  happens  that  excitements  and  vanities  appeal  to  her 
so  strongly  that  she  grows  unwilling  to  work.  She  wants 
more  money  and  more  pleasure.  This  is  regarded  by  a  French- 
man as  evidence  of  disloyalty,  actual  or  prospective ;  and 
so,  when  she  quits  the  shop,  he  quits  her.  She  then  becomes 
a  mere  adventuress,  a  member  of  the  third  sphere,  or  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  fourth,  which  is  a  moral  decline. 

The  adventuress  is  the  most  glittering  and  seductive  member 
of  the  demi-monde.     She  is  usually  pretty,  tactful  and  clever ; 


172  THE  ADVENTURESS. 

has  substituted  art  for  nature,  and  her  only  end  is  pleasure. 
She  is  capable  of  better  things,  but  she  needs  daily  excitement 
as  a  stimulant.  Her  continuous  revels  are  to  her  what  brandy 
is  to  the  inebriate. 

"  The  Marble  Heart"  familiar  to  our  play-goers,  though  a 
bad  translation,  was  designed  to  depict  such  a  being.  "  Marco" 
was  harder  and  more  selfish  than  the  original ;  but  even  she 
melted  when  too  late,  and  felt  pity  and  affection  when  she  saw 
the  ruin  she  had  wrought. 

The  notorious  Cora  Pearl  and  Mabel  Gray,*  though  both 
English  by  birth,  are  types  of  this  class.  They  have  become 
entirely  Parisianized,  and  seldom  leave  the  city  during  the 
season.  I  have,  often  seen  them  at  Baden-Baden,  and  they 
always  sparkled  on  the  highest  crest  of  success. 

The  adventuress  is  often  an  educated  girl,  who  has  been  so 
wronged  by  some  man  as  to  nearly  crush  her  heart.  She  may 
be  a  creature  of  such  high  animal  spirits,  so  fond  of  excite- 
ment, that  she  is  willing  to  purchase  ease  and  luxury  at  any 
price.  She  is  a  power  in  France,  and  enjoys  her  sense  of  power 
keenly.  She  is  singularly  sharpened  by  her  constant  inter- 
course with  men  of  the  world.  Possessed  of  quick  instincts 
and  a  clear  understanding  of  human  nature,  able  to  dissemble 
on  all  occasions,  to  counterfeit  every  emotion,  she  has  a  vantage 
ground  she  never  quits.  Though  everybody  knows  what  she  is, 
shrewd  men  are  constantly  deceived  by  her.  Those  who  boast 
of  their  scepticism  and  their  indifference  to  women,  become  in- 
fatuated with  her,  and  open  their  purse  to  her  as  freely  as  they  do 
their  confidences.  While  their  money  lasts  they  are  retained. 
That  gone,  they  are  permitted  to  see  what  dolts  they  have  been. 

The  adventuress  has  a  shining  but  a  brief  career — from 
eighteen  to  thirty-five.  After  that  she  finds  it  difficult  to  trade 
upon  her  faded  or  fading  charms,  though  sometimes  she  pre- 
serves herself  so  admirably,  and  is  such  a  consummate  artist 
withal,  that  she  appears  young  at  five-and-forty.  The  life  she 
leads  does  not  wear  her  out,  as  might  be  supposed.     Unnatural 

*  While  this  volume  was  going  through  the  press,  Mabel  Gray  died  in 
London. 


THE   COURTESAN.  173 

as  it  seems,  it  is  natural  to  her.  Having  little  conscience  or 
heart,  she  ages  slowly,  and  soft  couches,  dainty  diet  and  purple 
swathing  keep  her  in  fine  condition.  She  does  not  perish 
wretchedly,  as  sensationalists  declare ;  but  with  a  precaution  and 
prudence  that  come  to  most  of  the  French  when  they  are  no 
longer  young,  she  provides  for  her  future ;  goes  into  graceful 
retirement ;  smokes  her  cigarette ;  grows  pious,  perhaps ;  is 
kind  to  the  poor ;  kisses  the  cross  with  an  unuttered  epigram 
upon  her  lips,  and  sleeps  in  Montmartre  under  a  marble  figure 
of  the  Resurrection. 

The  inmates  of  the  bagnios  are  the  fourth  class,  and  the 
most  melancholy.  They  are  goaded  by  cruel  necessity  to  rela- 
tions they  shrink  from.  They  meet  the  coarsest  and  the  most 
selfish  of  men,  and  deal  with  a  heartless  and  rapacious  pro- 
curess. They  suffer  as  courtesans  in  America ;  and,  driven 
into  the  street  and  to  desperation,  it  is  not  strange  they  seek 
death  by  their  own  hand. 

The  well-dressed  and  often  comely  girls  that  crowd  the 
Boulevards  every  evening  are  in  the  fifth  sphere.  They  seldom 
accost  any  one ;  they  have  good  manners,  and  are  decorous  in 
speech.  They  occupy  apartments,  and  find  patrons  enough  to 
support  them.  With  all  their  extravagances  of  dress  and  care- 
lessness of  money,  they  often  provide  against  old  age,  the  terrible 
foe  of  every  woman  in  Paris. 

The  reckless  women  who  assail  strangers  with  importunities 
after  midnight,  and  who  are  always  struggling  between  want 
and  excitement,  are  the  semi-mundanes  of  the  last  class.  They 
dance  at  the  Mabille  for  pay ;  attend  the  Chateau  Rouge ;  dwell 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  or  the  Quartier  Latin ;  and  when 
the  burden  of  being  grows  too  heavy  are  found  with  a  look 
of  peace  in  their  pale  faces  in  the  bosom  of  the  Seine. 

So  the  demi-monde  of  Paris  flows  on  under  sun  and  cloud, 
through  clear  lakes  and  turbid  pools,  by  flowery  banks  and 
tangled  wildwood,  murmuring  musically  and  brawling  noisily 
over  smooth  pebbles  and  rough  rocks ; — flows  on,  let  us  hope, 
after  all  its  weary  and  shadowed  wanderings,  into  the  vast  ocean 
of  eternal  rest. 


CHAPTEE     XXI. 


THE   CHIFFONNIEKS    OF   PAKIS. 

•VEKYTHING  in  Paris  is  reduced  to  a  system. 
All  sorts  of  trades  and  callings,  even  the  most 
insignificant,   are  ranked  as  arts  or   profes- 
sions.    Though  preeminently  the  capital  of 
pleasure,  it  is  also  the  city  of  business.     From  build- 
ing opera  houses  and  opening  new  streets,  to  gather- 
ing garbage  and  renting  chairs  in  the  public  gardens, 
everything  is  fixed,  limited,  and  regulated. 

Even  rag-picking  has  its  established  arrangement 
and  order,  is  licensed,  recognized,  and  encouraged  by  the  gov- 
ernment. The  rag-pickers  of  Paris  number  about  six  hundred, 
one  half  of  whom  are  women,  and  children  from  nine  to  twelve 
years  of  age.  They  do  their  work  entirely  at  night ;  herd  to- 
gether almost  exclusively,  and  present  a  very  singular  phase  of 
life.  They  do  not  confine  themselves  to  rag-picking,  but 
gather  any  articles  of  small  value  that  may  be  thrown  into  the 
street. 

The  Parisians  are  allowed  to  place  any  refuse  of  the  house- 
hold in  little  piles  before  their  doors,  between  the  hours  of 
daylight  and  dark;  and  after  these  have  been  raked  by  the 
chiffonniers,  they  are  taken  away  by  the  rubbish-carts.  The 
rag-pickers,  who  begin  their  nightly  rounds  between  nine  and 
ten  o'clock,  carry — strapped  to  their  back — a  large  willow 
basket  holding  about  two  bushels,  a  stick  some  three  feet  long, 
with  a  hook  at  the  end  of  it,  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a 
piece  of  wire,  to  which  a  lantern  is  attached,  so  that  the  light 
will  show  whatever  is  on  the  ground.     Between  ten  and  twelve 


MODE   OF  OPERATIONS.  175 

o'clock  they  seem  to  be  in  every  street,  particularly  in  the  new- 
part  of  the  city,  where  their  labors  are  much  more  remunera- 
tive than  on  the  left  side  of  the  Seine,  where  the  most  rigid 
economy  is  so  generally  practised  as  to  interfere  with  their 
profits.  If  I  did  not  know  better,  I  should  suppose  there  were 
several  thousands  of  these  peculiar  wanderers  in  the  French 
capital ;  for  I  have  seen  them  almost  everywhere  at  all  hours 
of  the  night,  silent,  patient,  industrious,  and  persevering. 

The  members  of  this  strange  class  are  remarkably  skilful, 
and  move  with  the  regularity  and  precision  of  machines.  They 
very  seldom  speak,  for  they  usually  go  alone,  each  one  of  them 
having  his  or  her  particular  district,  and  hardly  ever  encroach- 
ing upon  that  of  any  other.  They  know  the  shortest  distance 
between  any  two  points  in  every  crooked  thoroughfare,  and  in 
walking  from  one  dirt  pile  to  another  show  their  practical 
understanding  of  the  definition  of  a  mathematical  line.  With 
their  lantern  in  the  left  hand,  and  their  stick  in  the  right, 
they  can  search  a  pile  of  rubbish  to  its  length,  and  depth, 
and  breadth  in  a  few  seconds.  They  never  miss  anything. 
Not  the  smallest  object  escapes  their  attention.  The  tiniest 
rag,  scrap  of  paper,  bit  of  glass,  or  cork,  or  bone,  or  wood  is 
transferred  at  once  by  the  agency  of  their  busy  hook,  from  the 
heap  to  the  basket,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Their 
dexterity  is  remarkable,  and  proves  the  perfection  which  prac- 
tice teaches.  They  very  rarely  use  their  fingers,  for  they  can 
manage  everything  with  their  hook.  Every  few  seconds  you 
will  see  a  rapid  curve  of  their  stick  from  the  pile  to  the  basket, 
and  the  deposit  of  the  object  in  the  latter  is  always  certain.  The 
smallest  bit  of  paper  goes  into  the  basket  as  securely  as  a  good- 
sized  fragment  of  glass ;  and,  after  they  are  through  with  the 
dirt  heap,  it  is  as  absolutely  without  value  as  anything  that  can 
be  imagined. 

The  chifibnnier  does  not  neglect  the  gutters,  where  he  fre- 
quently finds  the  largest  of  his  very  slender  treasures.  He 
rakes  them  carefully  but  rapidly,  and,  discovering  what  he  can 
sell  for  a  centime — one  fifth  of  a  cent — considers  himself  par- 
ticularly fortunate.     This  country  would  be  a  perfect  paradise 


176  GREAT  PRIZES. 

to  him.  He  would  deem  himself  the  luckiest  of  mortals  if  he 
lived  where  old  shoes,  cigar-stumps,  and  empty  bottles  could 
be  found  in  abundance ;  though  I  am  not  sure  such  unexam- 
pled prosperity  would  not  soon  drive  him  to  dissipation  and 
ruin. 

To  secure  an  unbroken  bottle  in  Paris  is  regarded  as  a  piece 
of  rare  good-fortune.  I  remember  once  throwing  out  of  my 
hotel  window,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  several  empty  wine 
bottles.  I  thought  no  more  of  the  circumstance  until,  two 
nights  after,  happening  to  be  in  the  street,  I  saw  at  least  twenty 
rag-pickers  raking  in  every  pile  near  the  hotel.  This  was  so 
unusual — for,  as  I  have  said,  the  chiffonnier  almost  invariably 
makes  his  rounds  unattended — that  I  stopped  to  listen  to  their 
rapid  and  excited  talk.  I  learned  that  the  subject  of  discussion 
was  bottles ;  that  three  of  them  had  been  found  in  the  neigh- 
borhood in  an  uninjured  state,  and  that  the  communication  of 
this  extraordinary  fact  by  the  finder  to  the  fraternity  of  rag- 
pickers had  created  an  immense  sensation. 

Twenty  of  them  had  come  that  night  with  an  anxious  hope 
of  discovering  more  bottles,  and  were  of  course  doomed  to 
bitter  disappointment.  I  was  so  much  impressed  by  their  quest 
for  what  they  could  not  find,  that  early  the  next  evening  I 
employed  a  servant  to  bury  three  entirely  new  bottles,  with 
corks  in  them,  in  three  different  heaps  of  rubbish ;  and  taking 
a  seat  at  the  window  about  ten  o'clock,  I  quietly  awaited  the 
result. 

I  had  been  there  only  a  few  minutes  when  fully  fifty  or 
sixty  of  the  unfortunates  of  both  sexes  appeared  below,  chat- 
tering, gesticulating,  and  thrusting  their  hooks  into  every  heap. 
Cries  of  joy  announced  the  unearthing  of  the  sought-for  goods, 
which  only  stimulated  exertion,  and  kept  the  rag-pickers  in  the 
neighborhood  for  more  than  an  hour.  The  next  night,  and  the 
night  after,  the  crowd  increased,  and  the  investigation  contin- 
ued. Before  a  week  was  over  the  tumult  became  such  that  the 
gendarmes  interfered,  and  dispersed  the  chiffonniers  under  the 
belief,  as  I  suspect,  that  they  were  planning  an  outbreak  against 
the  imperial  power.     I  refrained  thereafter  from  burying  any 


WHERE  THEY  LIVE.  IVY 

more  bottles,  lest  they  might  become  the  innocent  cause  of  a 
revolution,  and  the  dignity  of  history  be  made  to  suffer  by 
chronicling  the  overthrow  of  the  Empire  on  account  of  two  or 
three  paltry  vessels  of  glass. 

The  custom  of  the  rag-pickers  is  to  patronize,  between  one 
and  two  in  the  morning,  the  cheap  wine-shops  so  numerous  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  market-houses,  and  guzzle  the  poor  stuff 
sold  at  two  or  three  sous  a  bottle.  They  remain  there,  chatting, 
drinking,  and  smoking,  until  nearly  daylight,  when  they  make 
another  round — if  they  be  sober  enough — and  then  dispose  of 
what  they  have  picked  up,  to  the  petty  merchants,  whose  reg- 
ular customers  they  are.  For  the  contents  of  their  baskets 
they  get  from  one  to  five  francs — twenty  cents  to  one  dollar 
of  our  money. 

These  rag-merchants,  or,  more  properly,  refuse-buyers,  em- 
ploy a  number  of  men  and  women  to  sort  out  from  the  con- 
fused mass  the  articles  that  naturally  belong  together.  As 
may  be  supposed,  the  places  where  this  selection  and  arrange- 
ment are  made  are  neither  pleasant  nor  fragrant,  the  floors 
being  heaped  with  soiled  rags  of  every  kind,  old  bones,  frag- 
ments of  earthenware,  ends  of  cigars,  bits  of  mouldy  leather, 
and  unsightly  and  unwholesome  odds  and  ends  in  general. 

The  rag-pickers  live  in  the  meanest  and  wretchedest  parts 
of  the  city,  in  such  vile  quarters  as  strangers  in  Paris,  loung- 
ing or  riding  through  the  Boulevards,  cannot  imagine  to  have 
any  existence.  In  the  neighborhood  of  the  Quartier  Mouffe- 
tard  and  the  ancient  Barriere  de  Deux  Moulins,  the  most  dis- 
mal in  Paris,  the  poor  chiffonniers,  men,  women,  and  children, 
lodge,  crowded  together,  breathing  the  impurest  of  air,  and 
enduring  the  most  miserable  of  accommodations. 

A  few  of  the  aged  couples  rent  a  wretched  room  or  two, 
and,  as  we  say  in  America,  keep  house ;  but  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  the  rag-pickers  take  their  meals  in  the  commonest 
cook-shops.  Yery  little,  if  any,  distinction  is  made  there  be- 
tween breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  (the  last,  indeed,  is  hardly 
known  among  the  working  classes  of  the  city),  as  each  consists 
of  a  plate  of  soup  and  a  hash  or  stew  of  very  questionable 
12 


178  rag-pickers''  lottery. 

meat.  "What  is  called  mutton,  beef,  or  veal,  is  said,  by  those 
claiming  to  know,  to  be  often  horse,  dog,  or  cat.  However 
this  may  be,  the  meal,  which  usually  costs  about  five  sous,  is 
certainly  good  and  savory  for  the  price,  and  heartily  enjoyed 
by  its  consumers,  to  whom  hunger  is  the  best  of  sauce. 

Some  of  the  cook-shops  have  a  most  extraordinary  lottery, 
which  they  call  the  fortune  of  the  fork.  The  owner  of  the 
shop  buys  from  the  cooks  and  waiters  of  the  hotels  and  res- 
taurants, quantities  of  scraps  or  fragments  left  upon  the  plates 
of  their  patrons,  and  all  these  are  thrown  together  and  made 
soup  of.  "When  the  soup  is  ready  it  is  placed  in  a  large  iron 
kettle  upon  the  counter,  and,  for  two  or  three  sous,  each  rag- 
picker has  the  privilege  of  darting  a  long  fork  into  the  boiled 
mass,  to  see  what  he  can  bring  up.  He  may  get  a  nice  piece 
of  chicken,  a  delicate  bit  of  beef,  a  rich  morsel  of  stuffed 
goose-liver,  or  perhaps  only  a  potato  or  bit  of  parsnip  or  car- 
rot ;  possibly  nothing  at  all.  But,  even  in  that  sad  event,  the 
trier  of  his  luck  is  entitled  to  a  plate  of  soup,  which,  having 
tasted  myself,  on  a  certain  occasion,  impelled  by  curiosity,  I 
can  vouch  for  as  excellent.  The  potage  may  have  been  made 
of  rat,  or  cat,  or  dog ;  of  old  boots,  or  bonnets,  or  wigs ;  of 
dyspeptic  poodles,  or  starved  parrots  or  consumptive  canaries ; 
but  it  was  certainly  savory,  and  more  agreeable  to  the  palate 
than  a  good  deal  of  the  soup  I  have  taken  at  the  best  hotels 
and  restaurants  in  New  York. 

Very  few  of  the  chiffonniers  are  more  than  thirty-six  or 
thirty-seven  years  of  age.  When  they  grow  older,  or  get  in- 
firm, they  are  usually  employed  by  the  rag-merchants  who  buy 
from  the  original  collectors,  as  has  been  mentioned. 

The  prices  generally  paid  per  one  hundred  pounds,  by  the 
wholesale  dealers,  are  as  follows :  old  paper,  four  francs ;  coarse 
and  common  rags,  four  francs ;  cotton  rags,  nine  francs ;  linen 
rags,  ten  to  thirteen  francs ;  clean  cotton  rags,  sixteen  francs ; 
clean  linen  rags,  twenty  francs.  Bones,  glass,  leather,  iron, 
etc.,  bring  from  five  to  twenty-five  francs  a  hundred.  In  ad- 
dition to  the  articles  of  regular  trade,  the  rag-pickers  frequently 
find  those  of  value,  such  as  jewelry,  silver  spoons,  money,  and 


CHARACTER   OF  THE   CHIFFONNJERS.  179 

bank  notes.  Finders  of  any  such  valuables  are  bound  by  law, 
in  France,  to  give  them  to  the  commissioners  of  police,  on 
pain,  if  discovered,  of  punishment  for  larceny.  Without  this 
penalty,  the  rag-pickers,  who  in  general  are  entirely  honest, 
would,  and  do,  hand  over  to  the  police  whatever  valuables 
they  pick  up,  getting  a  receipt  for  it,  giving  their  name  and 
place  of  residence.  The  valuables  are  sent  to  the  Prefecture, 
where  they  are  kept  for  twelve  months,  and,  if  not  claimed  at 
the  expiration  of  that  time,  are  surrendered  to  the  original 
finder. 

The  chiffonniers,  though  not  very  attractive  in  person, 
habit,  or  manner,  are,  on  the  whole,  upright,  industrious,  and 
independent.  They  never  steal,  never  beg,  and  are  seldom 
willing  to  receive  money  from  strangers ;  thus  proving  them- 
selves remarkable  exceptions  to  most  of  the  common  people  in 
Europe.  The  greater  part  of  them  are  born  and  bred  to  the 
business,  and  prefer  the  irregular,  free-and-easy  life  to  one  of 
ordinary  labor.  Their  mode  of  existence  cannot  be  regarded 
as  either  pleasant  or  desirable ;  but  they  get  no  little  satisfac- 
tion out  of  it,  and  really  enjoy  themselves,  as  all  Parisians  do, 
in  their  own  way — much  better  than  persons  who  are  more 
prosperous,  and  have  more  reason  to  think  themselves  for- 
tunate. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

LOUIS    NAPOLEON. 

HE  career  of  Louis  Napoleon,  from  the  time 
of  his  birth  until  he  made  himself  Emperor 
of  France,  might  be  called  after  Octave 
Feuillet's  novel,  "The  Romance  of  a  Poor 
Young  Man."  Indeed,  the  facts  of  his  life 
are  more  romantic  than  romances,  and  verify  the  familiar 
proverb,  that  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction. 

Charles  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  bora  at  the 
Tuileries,  in  Paris,  April  20,  1808,  the  youngest  son 
of  Louis,  King  of  Holland,  and  Hortense,  daughter  of  the 
Empress  Josephine,  became  an  early  favorite  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon.  Scandal  has  always  been  rife  in  respect  to  his 
parentage :  he  has  been  accused  of  being  the  son  of  almost 
every  man  except  his  mother's  husband.  Even  his  imperial 
uncle  has  been  charged  with  the  responsibility  of  his  birth,  for 
the  reason,  probably,  that  it  is  believed  by  many  that  Hortense 
was  the  only  woman  Bonaparte  ever  really  loved.  The  com- 
mon report  in  Paris  has  been  that  Louis'  father  was  a  Dutch 
Admiral.  It  is  stated  that  the  King  of  Holland,  who  was 
never  attached  to  his  wife,  and  who  soon  separated  from  her, 
refused  to  recognize  Louis  as  his  child  until  imperatively  or- 
dered to  do  so  by  the  Emperor.  It  is  certain  that  the  late 
Napoleon  III.  bears  no  personal  resemblance  to  his  uncle  or  to 
his  mother ;  but  he  is  said  to  be  very  much  like  his  father — 
always  thought  to  be  more  Dutch  than  French  in  manner, 
temperament,  and  character.     On  the  whole,  therefore,  there 


EAGERNESS  FOR  A    THRONE.  181 

is  no  more  reason  to  doubt  Louis  Napoleon's  legitimacy  than 
to  doubt  most  men's  under  similar  circumstances. 

Louis  was  mainly  educated  by  his  mother,  who  resided  in 
Paris  under  the  title  of  the  Queen  of  Holland.  After  the 
overthrow  of  Napoleon  I.  they  went  to  Augsburg,  where  the 
boy  learned  German,  and,  after  remaining  there  several  years, 
they  made  their  home  in  Switzerland  and  Italy.  The  youth 
subsequently  attended  the  military  college  of  Thun,  and  when 
the  revolution  of  1830  broke  out  he  asked  Louis  Philippe  for 
permission  to  go  to  France,  but  to  no  purpose.  He  then 
went  back  to  Italy,  and  was  engaged  in  the  revolutionary 
movements  of  1831,  until  he  was  banished  from  the  Papal 
territory.  Soon  after  this  the  elder  brother,  Napoleon,  died, 
speedily  followed  by  the  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  leaving  Louis 
the  successor  of  the  First  Napoleon,  by  the  imperial  edicts 
which  had  set  aside  the  usual  order  of  descent,  and  fixed  the 
succession  in  the  line  of  Louis,  instead  of  that  of  the  older 
brother,  Joseph. 

Louis'  mother  had  always  reared  him  with  the  idea  that  he 
was  destined  to  rule  over  France — an  idea  she  seems  to  have 
inherited  from  Bonaparte — and  she  never  ceased  to  impress 
upon  her  son,  in  every  possible  way,  that  the  crown  of  his 
uncle  would  be  his,  if  he  would  but  strive  for  it.  His  destiny 
now  appeared  clear :  from  that  moment  all  his  thoughts  con- 
centrated upon  his  succession  to  the  throne,  until  he  became 
upon  that  subject  unquestionably  a  monomaniac.  His  first 
step  was  to  gain  the  approval  by  the  French  people  of  his  am- 
bitious schemes ;  and  to  show  the  necessity  of  an  Emperor  to 
the  nation,  he  wrote  a  book,  which  he  afterward  made  into  a 
larger  and  more  elaborate  work,  called  "  Idees  Napoleoniennes," 
insisting  still  more  strongly  upon  his  position.  He  tried  to 
add  deeds  to  his  theories.  In  1S36  he  proclaimed  a  revolution 
at  Strasburg ;  but  the  attempt  resulted  in  a  mortifying  failure. 
He  was  taken  prisoner,  and  Louis  Philippe  was  persuaded,  by 
the  earnest  entreaties  of  the  prince's  mother,  to  inflict  upon 
him  no  more  serious  punishment  than  banishment.  He  was 
sent  to  this  country,  and  after  leading  a  semi- vagabond  life  in 


182  CHOSEN  PRESIDENT. 

New  York  and  its  vicinity,  and  wandering  aimlessly  about  the 
country,  he  went  to  South  America.  In  1837  he  was  recalled 
to  Switzerland  by  the  mortal  illness  of  his  mother,  and  was 
with  her  when  she  died.  It  is  said  that  she  besought  him  with 
expiring  breath  to  remember  his  destiny,  and  he  solemnly 
promised  he  would  spare  no  effort  to  achieve  it.  France  de- 
manded that  Switzerland  should  surrender  him,  and  this  in- 
duced him  to  retire  to  England. 

In  August,  1840,  in  company  with  Count  Month olon,  who 
had  been  with  his  uncle  at  St.  Helena,  and  sixty  or  seventy 
other  persons  attached  to  his  fortunes,  he  chartered  a  steam- 
boat and  went  to  Boulogne.  Arrived  there,  he  marched  with 
his  handful  of  followers  to  the  barracks,  and  demanded  that 
the  soldiers  should  surrender.  They  refused ;  a  slight  skirmish 
occurred,  and  the  prince  was  arrested,  and  sentenced  by  the 
House  of  Peers  to  perpetual  imprisonment  in  the  fortress  of 
Ham.  After  remaining  in  captivity  six  years,  which  he  spent 
in  literary  labors,  he  escaped  in  the  disguise  of  a  workman,  and 
went  a^ain  to  England. 

When  the  revolutionists  of  1848  expelled  Louis  Philippe, 
Louis  Napoleon  hurried  to  Paris,  and  was  universally  laughed 
at  for  his  folly ;  everybody  feeling  assured  that  he  was  about  to 
do  something  that  would  make  him  more  ridiculous  than  ever. 
He  was  chosen,  however,  a  deputy  to  the  National  Assembly, 
Lamartine  vainly  endeavoring  to  effect  his  banishment.  On 
taking  his  seat  he  avowed  his  fidelity  to  the  republic  under 
oath,  and  on  the  10th  of  December  was  chosen  President  by  a 
large  majority.  In  his  new  capacity,  he  and  the  representa- 
tives of  the  people  were  widely  at  variance,  until  suddenly,  on 
the  night  of  December  2,  1851,  he  made  his  famous  coup 
d'etat.  Paris  was  declared  in  a  state  of  siege ;  the  Assembly 
was  dissolved ;  many  of  the  members  arrested  in  their  beds, 
and  sent  to  prison ;  while  the  people  who  showed  themselves 
hostile  to  the  outrage  were  shot  down  by  the  soldiers  in  the 
streets.  At  the  same  time  a  decree  was  issued  establishing 
universal  suffrage,  and  the  election  of  a  President  for  ten  years. 
Louis  Napoleon  was,  of  course,  chosen,  and  he  at  once  set 


AN  EMPEROR  PRISONER.  183 

about  restoring  the  Empire.  In  January,  1852,  a  new  consti- 
tution was  adopted,  the  National  Guard  revived,  and  new 
orders  of  nobility  were  issued.  In  the  following  November 
the  people  were  invited  to  vote  upon  a  plehiscitum  making 
Louis  Emperor,  under  the  title  of  Napoleon  III.  The  votes, 
as  may  be  supposed,  were  largely  in  his  favor,  and  thus  the 
one  object  of  his  life,  so  long  and  steadily  pursued — the  single 
purpose  he  had  cherished  and  held  fast  to  in  banishment, 
imprisonment,  mortification,  and  defeat — was  at  last  accom- 
plished ;  accomplished,  too,  against  the  expectation  and  belief 
of  both  the  Old  World  and  the  New. 

Napoleon's  career  since  then  is  well-known  :  his  marriage; 
his  alliance  with  England  against  Russia ;  his  conjunction  with 
Italy  against  Austria;  his  various  political  measures,  which 
seemed  to  have  made  him  the  first  monarch  in  Europe,  until 
the  disaster  at  Sedan  toppled  the  Empire  down  over  his  dis- 
crowned head. 

The  world's  judgments  are  unstable  enough.  While  Louis 
Napoleon  was  an  adventurer,  aiming  at  the  throne,  he  was  de- 
clared a  charlatan  and  a  simpleton.  When  he  had  grasped 
success,  and  secured  the  throne,  he  was  pronounced  gifted  and 
great.  Now  that  adversity  has  fallen  upon  him  again,  those 
who  sounded  his  praises  loudest  insist  that  he  was  always  a 
mountebank  and  a  fool. 

During  the  eighteen  years  of  Napoleon's  reign,  the  anxieties 
and  responsibilities  and  perils  of  his  office  were  constant  and 
incalculable.  Though  suffering  from  disease  that  racked  him, 
and  threatened  to  prove  mortal,  he  was  ever  on  the  alert,  per- 
petually on  the  watch  for  formidable  dangers,  of  which  few  save 
himself  had  any  conception.  Conspiracies  were  always  form- 
ing against  him,  and  assassins  dogging  his  footsteps.  Every 
day  and  every  night  he  was  in  peril,  and  mental  rest  or  relief 
must  have  been  to  him  a  feeling  unknown.  One  would  imag- 
ine that  even  his  humiliated  position,  as  a  State  prisoner  at 
Wilhelmshohe,  might  have  brought  him  a  sense  of  release  and 
comfort.  It  is  said  that  the  first  night  of  sound  sleep  he  expe- 
rienced after  he  set  foot  in  France,  after  the  revolution  of  1848, 


184  A  PECULIAR    CHARACTER. 

was  in  the  castle  where  he  was  confined.  "When  he  ruled  over 
Paris  it  presented  the  anomaly  of  a  city  of  peace  in  a  state  of 
siege.  He  was  conscious  beyond  everybody  else  that  he  lived 
upon  a  mine,  which  might  at  any  moment  explode,  and  blow 
him  and  his  dynasty  to  atoms.  He  has  endured  enough  to 
wear  out  twenty  of  the  most  vigorous  men,  and  all  for  ambi- 
tion, which  has  been  indeed  the  god  of  his  idolatry.  The 
secret  history  of  the  Empire,  if  faithfully  written,  would  re- 
veal a  condition  of  such  constant  vigilance,  anxiety,  and  appre- 
hension on  the  part  of  the  Emperor  as  would  make  the  impe- 
rial robes  seem  in  their  power  to  torture  like  the  shirt  of 
Nessus. 

Very  few  persons  in  this  country  felt  any  sympathy  with 
Napoleon  when  they  heard  of  his  downfall.  They  believed 
that  he  richly  deserved  his  fate ;  for  he  had  secured  the  throne 
by  deceit,  and  perjury,  and  bloodshed.  A  pretended  republi- 
can and  patriot,  he  privately  plotted  against  the  liberties  of 
France,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  slaughter  in  the  streets  of  Paris 
those  who  had  been  his  sincerest  friends. 

His  apologists  claim  that  he  has  always  had  the  interests 
of  his  country  earnestly  at  heart ;  that  he  understood  the  peo- 
ple even  better  than  they  understood  themselves;  that  the 
Empire  was  indispensable  to  the  prosperity  and  the  glory  of 
the  nation ;  and  that  it  could  be  established  only  through  the 
extreme  measures  he  adopted.  They  say  that  he  conscien- 
tiously thought  the  end  justified  the  means;  that,  when  he 
seemed  to  sin  deepest  against  France,  he  loved  her  most,  and 
that  to-day,  in  his  humiliation,  he  mourns  more  over  the  sor- 
rows of  his  country  than  over  his  own. 

It  is  almost  impossible  at  this  time  to  analyze  or  estimate 
so  peculiar  and  contradictory  a  character  as  Louis  Napoleon's. 
He  has  been  from  the  first  more  or  less  a  political  sphinx,  and 
no  one  has  guessed  the  riddle  of  his  daily  giving-out.  His 
face  is  as  impenetrable  as  his  nature.  I  have  often  seen  him 
when  he  had  reason  to  hope  and  to  fear,  to  rejoice  and  be  trou- 
bled— when  Paris  was  quiet,  and  when  on  the  brink  of  revolu- 
tion.    But  that  stern,  strange,  thoroughly  enigmatical  face  was 


GENERAL  APPEARANCE. 


185 


ever  the  same.  The  eye  looked  dull,  cold,  ray  less ;  the  heavy 
moustache  covered  the  severe  mouth ;  the  large  aquiline  nose 
appeared  obdurate  and  threatening,  searching,  as  if  it  scented 
whatever  was  in  the  air ;  and  his  whole  mien  conveyed  the 
impression  of  a  strong  will  battling  against  a  weak  tempera- 
ment. There  is  nothing  noble  or  royal  in  his  person  or  his 
presence.  Met  under  ordinary  circumstances,  in  the  common 
walks  of  life,  he  might  well  be  mistaken  for  a  Hebrew  mer- 
chant, who  had  exhausted  the  sources  of  pleasure,  and  pene- 
trated the  depths  of  dissipation,  to  discover  that  there  was 
nothing  in  either,  and  that  silence  and  mystery  were  the  gov- 
erning powers  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   EX-EMPRESS    EUGENIE. 

TMPATHY,  like  glory,  lights  upon  the  highest 
heads.  Though  there  are  thousands  of  needy, 
homeless,  broken-hearted  women  in  France 
to-day,  suffering  from  no  sin  of  their  own, 
they  are  of  the  undistinguished  many,  and  the 
mind,  therefore,  goes  beyond  and  above  them,  to  fix 
its  thought  and  pity  upon  one  who,  only  yesterday 
their  Empress,  is  now  uncrowned,  dethroned,  and  a 
weary  wanderer  in  a  weary  land. 
Strange  have  been  the  fortunes  of  Eugenie  Marie  de  Guz- 
man, and  stranger  still  have  been  the  fortunes  of  Eugenie 
Bonaparte.  No  one  would  have  dreamed,  in  the  wildest  flight 
of  imagination,  that  the  pretty  child  playing  in  the  soft  sun- 
shine of  Granada  would  ever  be  Empress  of  the  French.  No 
one  would  have  supposed,  after  being  seated  on  a  throne  for 
more  than  seventeen  years,  and  after  having  won  the  admira- 
tion and  applause  of  all  nations,  that  she  would  be  compelled 
to  fly  from  an  infuriated  mob,  in  the  beautiful  city  where  she 
had  been  most  loved,  and  where  the  loudest  paeans  had  been 
chanted  in  her  name. 

Cosmopolitan  in  character,  as  in  blood  and  education — for 
she  is  a  Scotch-Spanish-French  woman — she  attracted  atten- 
tion from  her  earliest  girlhood  by  the  loveliness  of  her  per- 
son and  the  charm  of  her  manners.  Later  in  life  she  was  re- 
splendent in  the  most  fashionable  salons  of  Madrid  and  Paris, 
and  was  the  cynosure  of  admiring  eyes  on  the  Prado  and 
Champs  Elysees.     A  coquette,  as  any  pretty  woman  born  in 


NAPOLEON  III. 


SUCCESS   OF  THE  EMPRESS.  181 

Spain  and  educated  in  France  would  naturally  be,  she  is  re- 
ported to  have  broken  scores  of  hearts  before  her  marriage, 
but  to  have  broken  them  in  the  purely  sentimental  way  which 
does  not  prevent  them  from  being  early  and  easily  mended. 
Still  un wedded  at  twenty-six,  it  was  generally  predicted  she 
would  share  the  fate  of  many  bewitching  flirts,  and  die  in 
single-blessedness.  She  had  lived  the  hard  and  wearing  life 
of  constant  gayety,  in  gilded  society,  and  yet  her  face  was  as 
fresh  and  her  form  as  round  as  if  she  had  spent  her  years  on 
the  sunny  plains  of  Andalusia,  instead  of  in  the  crowded 
theatres  and  hot  drawing-rooms  of  the  French  and  Spanish 
capitals. 

Spending  the  winter  in  Paris,  the  Emperor  met  and  fell  in 
love  with  her — a  brilliant  triumph  for  Eugenie  over  the  rather 
loose  and  hlase  man  who  had  travelled  much,  and  seen  the 
rarest  beauties  of  the  richest  lands.  Having  sought  in  vain 
to  ally  himself  with  nearly  every  royal  family  in  Europe,  he 
had  almost  forsworn  marriage  when  he  encountered  the  fasci- 
nating Guzman.  He  pressed  his  suit  earnestly  and  eloquently ; 
but  at  the  end  she  referred  him  to  the  priest,  and  so  they  were 
united.  The  marriage  proved  what  love-matches  seldom  do — 
both  wise  and  politic.  No  sooner  was  she  invested  with  the 
purple,  than  she — understanding  how  great  an  influence  a 
handsome  and  elegant  woman  can  exercise  upon  so  gallant  a 
nation  as  the  French — made  it  her  ceaseless  study  to  win  them 
to  the  Empire  through  their  esteem  and  affection  for  the 
Empress. 

Eugenie's  success  was  so  remarkable,  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  patriotism,  humanity,  and  tenderness  of  heart  entered  largely 
into  her  diplomacy.  She  obtained  pardons  and  amnesties  for 
political  prisoners ;  erected  hospitals  and  churches ;  procured 
grants  from  the  government  for  building  new  railways ;  im- 
proved the  docks  and  harbors,  and  did  everything  in  her  power 
to  add  to  the  prosperity  and  happiness  of  France.  Finding 
that  trade  had  suffered  from  the  lack  of  a  feminine  representa- 
tive of  the  throne,  and  from  the  want  of  a  proper  recognition 
of  the   Empire   by  the  world   of  fashion,    she   instituted   at 


188  HER  APPEARANCE    WITH   VICTORIA. 

once  Court  balls,  State  concerts,  and  ceremonial  dinners,  and 
attended  the  theatre  regularly;  thus  giving  an  impetus  and 
activity  to  business  almost  unprecedented.  In  company  with 
her  husband  she  made  a  grand  tour  through  the  northern 
provinces,  and  through  Brittany,  where  serious  political  dis- 
affection had  existed,  and  by  her  generosity,  beauty,  and  gra- 
cious manners,  reconciled  the  most  discontented  to  the  new 
form  of  government. 

The  imperial  pair  had  invited  Queen  Victoria  to  meet  them 
at  Cherbourg,  and  she  gladly  went,  thus  affording  an  opportu- 
nity to  the  public  to  compare,  or  rather  contrast,  the  woman 
sovereigns  of  the  two  great  powers.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  state  that  the  advantage  was  altogether  on  the  side  of  the 
former  Countess  de  Teba.  Not  to  speak  of  her  youth,  and 
grace,  and  freshness,  her  toilette  on  that  occasion  was  a  miracle 
of  taste  and  art,  while  the  Queen,  as  stated  by  those  present, 
was  attired  in  a  white  gown,  trimmed  with  light  blue,  wearing 
a  green  scarf,  carrying  a  pink  parasol,  and  bearing  upon  her 
uncomely  head  a  bonnet  conspicuous  with  dark-brown  ribbons 
— a  combination  of  millinery  and  mantua  eminently  calculated 
to  put  whole  drawing-rooms  to  flight.  During  the  Crimean 
War  the  Emperor  and  Empress  returned  the  Queen's  visit, 
when  Eugenie,  appearing  in  public  with  Yictoria,  so  com- 
pletely outshone  her  that  the  loyalest  of  the  English  are  said 
to  have  experienced  great  mortification  and  something  nearly 
akin  to  disgust.  The  Empress,  though  not  born  to  the  throne, 
as  Yictoria  may  be  said  to  have  been,  seemed  in  the  presence 
of  the  latter  like  a  goddess  beside  a  vivandiere. 

"When  Louis  Napoleon,  entering  the  field  during  the  Italian 
war,  made  the  Empress  Regent,  her  popularity  was  at  its 
height ;  and  it  is  questionable  if  any  sovereign  of  Europe  dur- 
ing the  century  had  a  stronger  hold  upon  the  affections  of 
the  people.  After  the  sudden  and  unexpected  peace  at  Yilla- 
franca,  and  the  political  and  religious  complications  in  which 
the  Emperor  became  involved,  Eugenie  took  such  strong,  even 
violent,  sides  with  the  Pope  and  the  Roman  priesthood — until 
her  flight  from  Paris  she  continued  to  hold  them,  more  or  less 


OVER-ZEAL  FOE  ITER   CHURCH.  ISO 

— as  to  alienate  herself,  not  only  from  her  husband,  but  from 
the  people  who  had  once  almost  worshipped  her. 

From  all  the  accounts  current,  and  believed  in  Paris  at  the 
time,  she  seems  to  have  been  possessed  by  the  demon  of  un- 
reason. She  did  everything  she  could  to  thwart  Napoleon, 
both  as  a  man  and  a  monarch,  and  made  him  more  or  less  subser- 
vient to  her  fanatical  schemes  and  superstitious  fears  by  his 
unwillingness  to  render  their  discord  public.  She  forced  M. 
Fould,  the  Minister  of  State,  to  resign.  She  even  went  so  far 
as  to  sell  the  jewels  that  had  been  presented  to  her  on  her  mar- 
riage, by  Strasbourg,  Bordeaux,  Marseilles,  Paris,  and  other 
principal  cities  of  the  country — these  really  belonged  to  the 
State  jewels — and  send  the  proceeds  to  the  Pope,  who  stood 
in  no  more  legitimate  need  of  money  than  the  Bothschilds  do 
of  eleemosynary  sous. 

From  that  time  to  the  fall  of  Napoleon  she  never  fully 
regained  the  esteem  or  affection  of  the  Parisians,  who,  though 
nominally  Roman  Catholics,  are  as  far  as  possible  from  zealots. 
She  seems,  however,  by  some  of  that  impenetrably  mysterious 
management  for  which  her  sex  is  noted,  to  have  won  back  the 
estranged  heart  of  her  justly-aggravated  and  indignant  hus- 
band. In  justice  to  her,  it  may  be  said  that  over-zeal  for  her 
Church,  and  certain  superstitious  fears  connected  with  her  son 
and  the  dynasty,  impaired  her  judgment  for  the  time,  and  de- 
ranged her  naturally  clear  and  excellent  faculties.  The  com- 
mon anxiety  and  common  danger  which  the  Emperor  and 
Empress  shared  so  long,  no  doubt  contributed  largely  to  the 
restoration  of  their  sympathy  and  love. 

Apart  from  her  bigotry  and  superstition,  for  which  her 
nativity  and  education  must  be  held  responsible,  she  has  been 
in  the  main  a  generous,  charitable,  and  womanly  woman,  who 
has  done  so  much  good  that  the  little  ill  she  may  have  been 
the  cause  of  is  not  worthy  of  remembrance.  During  the 
brief  term  of  her  second  regency  she  bade  fair  to  resume  in 
the  hearts  of  the  French  the  position  she  held  at  the  time  of 
the  Italian  "War.  Her  bearing  and  conduct  were  discreet, 
courageous,  and  patriotic,  and  but  for  disasters  to  the  nation 


190  A  FUGITIVE  AKD  A    WANDERER. 

which  she  could  neither  lessen  nor  prevent,  she  might  again 
have  been  the  universal  favorite  she  was  when,  day  after  day, 
she  visited  the  military  hospitals ;  ministered  to  the  wounded 
and  the  dying,  and  the  grateful  soldiers  turned  almost  with 
expiring  breath  to  kiss  her  passing  shadow  on  the  wall. 

Amid  the  trying  and  terrific  scenes  which  followed  the 
announcement  of  the  terrible  defeat  at  Sedan,  she  sustained 
herself  and  her  authority  with  noble  dignity  and  heroic  calm- 
ness. And  only  when  she  had  been  deserted  by  almost  every 
one  of  her  professed  friends  and  adherents,  and  when  the  piti- 
less mob  of  Paris  was  howling  with  rage  at  the  very  doors  of 
the  Tuilleries,  did  she  quit  the  city  she  had  so  loved,  and  which 
had  so  loved  her,  to  become  a  fugitive  and  a  wanderer,  crown- 
less,  homeless,  husbandless,  in  a  land  that  had  found  it  con- 
venient to  forget  that  France  had  been  its  ally  and  its  friend. 

Those  who  have  hated  Eugenie,  if  any  there  be,  can  hardly 
hold  their  hatred  longer  against  the  unfortunate  woman  who 
has  fallen  from  the  head  of  a  proud  and  generous  nation  to  the 
position  of  a  suppliant  for  the  commonest  sympathy.  Her 
answer  to  the  advice  that  she  should  order  out  the  troops  to 
fire  upon  the  mob  before  she  fled  from  Paris,  was  this :  "  I 
would  rather  have  their  pity  than  their  hate."  And  this  an- 
swer, so  expressive  of  womanly  tenderness  and  generosity,  will 
be  remembered  to  her  honor  long  after  her  inherited  bigotry 
and  superstition  are  forgotten.  She  has  done  much  to  make 
the  position  of  a  sovereign  charming  and  lovable ;  and  when 
her  epitaph  is  written,  it  will  be  with  forgiveness  for  her  faults, 
and  sincere  affection  for  her  far  more  than  overbalancing 
virtues. 


CHAPTER    XXIY. 

HENRI   ROCHEFORT. 

AtssAftWfJjh  ENRI  ROCHEFORT  is  a  genuine  French- 

Ull  \\\  '  '1m  man — or  l>ai'is';ini  rather,  since  Pan's  is  an 
1 1  ^Bb^^Wj j  intensification  and  exaggeration  of  France — 
ffi  B  Hi TTHli  and  vet  very  unlike  most  of  his  countrymen. 
JIILl-  •  LL  •  im  He  has  all  the  strengths  and  many  of  the 
j^S=P^^L  'i  weaknesses  of  his  fellow  Gauls,  who  often  re- 
mind us  of  the  dictum  of  Voltaire :  There  are  two  kinds  of 
nature — human  nature  and  French  nature.  He  is  brave  to 
rashness,  self-conscious  in  the  extreme,  melodramatic  always, 
wedded  to  sensation.  But,  if  vain,  he  is  strong ;  if  egotistic, 
he  is  resolute ;  if  vindictive,  he  is  earnest.  He  worships  ex- 
citement  as  he  does  himself,  and  is  resolved  the  world  (a 
Frenchman's  world  is  always  Paris)  shall  not  forget  him — at 
least  while  he  keeps  out  of  Mont  Parnasse. 

Never  satisfied,  save  in  trouble  of  some  kind  (Harry  Percy 
had  not  more  loathing  for  a  quiet  life),  he  is  just  now  in  the 
height  of  contentment.  He  has  accomplished  much.  He  has 
made  himself  talked  about.  What  Parisian  could  ask  more  1 
His  name  is  familiar  even  in  what  is  regarded  on  the  Seine  as 
the  backwoods  of  America — in  New  York,  for  instance.  He 
is  the  best-known  journalist  on  the  Continent ;  indeed,  almost 
the  only  one  known  at  all,  except  Emile  de  Girardin.  In 
Paris  he  is  spoken  of  as  frequently  as  the  Madeleine  or  the 
Louvre.  r  He  is  one  of  the  very  few  persons  pointed  out  on 
the  Boulevards ;  and,  after  Louis  Napoleon,  was  the  first  man 
strangers  desired  to  see. 

Rochefort's  appearance  is  very  different  from  the  popular 


192  PERSONAL  APPEARANCE. 

notion  of  it,  as  is  that  of  most  mortals  who  have  achieved 
either  distinction  or  notoriety.  He  is  not  a  whit  like  the 
ideal  Frenchman — slight,  graceful,  elegant,  olive-complexioned, 
black-eyed.  When  I  first  saw  him,  in  Brussels,  during  his 
self-exile,  and  when  I  met  him  afterward  in  Paris,  I  could  not 
find  in  him  any  personal  resemblance  to  his  countrymen.  I 
should  have  thought  him  an  American — a  native  of  Missis- 
sippi, Texas,  or  Arkansas;  and  I  expected  to  hear,  as  he 
spoke,  the  Anglo- African  accent  of  the  Southern  States,  in- 
stead of  the  pure,  unmistakable  Academy  French.  He  is 
above  the  medium  height  (most  Frenchmen  are  small  of  stat- 
ure), and  rather  muscular,  but  raw-boned  and  angular.  He  is 
exceedingly  pale — pale  to  cadaverousness — with  something  of 
the  green  shadows  in  his  face  that  seem  to  lurk  about  Ribera's 
inquisitorial  pictures.  He  has  prominent,  high-cheeked  bones  ; 
a  square,  spacious  forehead ;  a  large,  thick  nose,  relieved  by  a 
closely  trimmed  moustache ;  deep-set  eyes,  whose  color,  diffi- 
cult to  determine  from  their  variableness  of  expression,  is 
really  dark  gray.  His  chin  is  long,  heavy,  somewhat  protu- 
berant, bounded  by  a  whisker  au  houc ;  his  cheeks  are  thin 
and  unshaven ;  his  brows  thick ;  his  hair  curly,  and  worn  of 
medium  length,  after  the  American  fashion.  His  face,  un- 
questionably homely,  indicates  marked  character  and  strength ; 
and  when  animated,  undergoes  a  very  favorable  change,  giving 
a  very  different  impression  from  what  it  does  in  repose.  Some- 
thing of  the  coldness  and  hardness  one  finds  in  Titian's  picture 
of  Philip  II.,  in  the  Library  of  the  Escorial,  is  in  the  face  of 
the  irreconcilable  journalist.  He  would  not  be  suspected 
commonly  of  having  nerves ;  but  the  close  observer  will  de- 
tect in  him  a  triumph  of  self-discipline,  a  suppression  of  im- 
pulse, a  mastery  of  mind  over  matter.  All  his  editorials  since 
he  blossomed  into  Red  Republicanism  in  the  Figaro,  became 
an  ultraist  in  the  Lanteme,  and  a  ferocious  extremest  in  the 
Marseillaise,  would  convey  the  impression  that  he  is  a  man 
of  uncontrollable  passions ;  but  he  is  not.  He  is  violent  be- 
cause he  deliberates  to  be.  He  is  hot-hearted,  but  cool-headed. 
He  never  says  a  word  more  than  he  intends,  and  he  thoroughly 
understands  the  force  of  language. 


POLITICAL  ASSOCIATIONS.  193 

Eochefort  is  a  count  of  ancient  as  well  as  noble  blood ;  has 
had  every  advantage  of  education,  prestige,  and  association. 
Like  most  Parisians  born  with  prosperous  surroundings,  he 
early  completed  the  round  of  pleasures  (some  say  he  had 
none) ;  and,  approaching  middle  age,  found  it  necessary  to 
have  a  new  dissipation.  Sterne  has  said  women  in  France  are 
at  first  gallant,  then  literary,  finally  religious.  The  men,  it 
seems  to  me,  have  four  degrees — dissipation,  study,  politics, 
scepticism.  The  first  is  usually  from  eighteen  to  twenty- 
three ;  the  second,  from  twenty-three  to  twenty-eight;  the 
third  lasts  to  forty ;  and  the  fourth  to  the  grave — even  though, 
from  youthful  training,  they  make  profession  of  religion  at  the 
latest  hour. 

Eochefort,  now  about  forty,  has  had  this  fourfold  experi- 
ence. He  may  be  weary  of  wine  and  society,  of  conversa- 
tional and  sentimental  conquests,  of  epigrammatic  writing  for 
writing's  sake,  of  clever  criticisms  and  fine  theories  of  art. 
He  now  devotes  himself  to  politics  and  what  he  conceives  to 
be  the  wrongs  of  his  country.  Naturally  an  intellectual  epi- 
cure, a  dilettante,  he  would  have  continued  such,  say  the  Im- 
perialists, but  for  the  wounding  of  his  self-love  by  Louis  Na- 
poleon. As  that  is  the  unpardonable  sin  in  a  Frenchman's 
eyes,  it  was,  of  course,  unpardonable  in  Eochefort' s.  From 
that  moment  he  hated  the  Emperor;  and  the  only  way  to 
show  his  hatred  was  to  oppose  the  Empire  and  abuse  the 
whole  Napoleon  family.  He  became  a  Eepublican  through 
his  feelings  of  personal  resentment,  and  has  for  years  been  the 
intensest  advocate  of  free  government.  However  he  may 
have  reached  his  present  principles,  he  is  most  earnest  in  their 
behalf.  If  turned  to  them  by  personal  feelings,  he  holds  and 
clings  to  them  with  all  the  tenacity  of  his  temperament,  and 
all  the  ardor  that  conviction  lends  to  enthusiasm.  He  longs 
for  a  revolution,  and  would  lead  one  to-morrow,  if  he  were 
sure  it  would  carry  him  to  the  scaffold. 

After  Eochefort  was  obliged  to  quit  Paris  to  avoid  impris- 
onment, after  the  suppression  of  the  Zanterne,  his  bitterness 
toward  the  Emperor  and  the  Empire  so  increased  as  to  become 
13 


194  REVOLUTIONARY  SPIRIT. 

almost  a  monomania.  All  the  while  he  resided  at  Brussels  he 
chafed  inwardly  like  a  caged  tiger,  and  fed  his  wrath  with  the 
luxury  of  his  hatred.  I  used  to  encounter  him  there,  walking 
alone  in  the  streets,  pale  and  hard  as  marble,  the  type  of  re- 
strained malevolence,  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  strike. 
Elected  to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  he  could  return  to  Paris 
regardless  of  Louis  Napoleon.  That  gave  him  the  field  and 
the  advantage  he  had  sought.  He  issued  the  Marseillaise; 
and  from  the  first  number  to  the  last  it  teemed  with  the  most 
violent  abuse  of  the  Emperor,  and  everybody  and  everything 
connected  with  him.  In  his  desire  to  insult  the  head  of 
the  government,  and  bring  on  a  crisis,  he  laid  aside  all  gener- 
osity and  chivalry.  He  called  Eugenie^ wanton,  and  her  son 
illegitimate,  when  it  was  his  proudest  boast  a  few  years  since 
that  he  was  a  gentleman  before  he  was  a  count. 

If  what  I  have  heard  of  Rochefort  in  Paris  be  true,  I  doubt 
if  he  would  be  satisfied  with  any  form  of  government.  He 
has  been  bitten  with  the  cobra  of  political  theory,  and  he  will 
never  recover.  He  is  an  implacable  foe,  and  he  troubled  Louis 
Napoleon  with  an  army  of  a  million  of  soldiers  at  the  imperial 
back.  The  people  believe  in  him ;  he  can  fan  the  smoulder- 
ing fires  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  and  awake  the  spirit  of 
the  sans  culottes  across  the  Seine. 

The  days  of  revolution  may  come  after  the  war.  If  Roche- 
fort  cannot  force  them  into  hideous  birth,  they  are  over  indeed. 
A  man  willing  to  die  for  a  purpose  is  always  dangerous  to  those 
who  oppose  him.     That  man  is  Henri  Rochefort !  * 

*  What  was  a  surmise  lias  become  a  prediction.  Since  this  chapter  was 
written,  Rochefort  has  been  a  strong  advocate  of  the  Commune  in  his  latest 
journal,  Le  Mot  d'Ordre. 


CHAPTEE    XXV. 


THE   CHIEF   CITIES    EST   FRANCE. 

£  HE  South  of  Prance  is  noted  for  the  liber- 
*n  ality  of  its  political  sentiments,  and  conse- 
quently has  more  of  the  republican  element, 
even  of  the  crimson  sort,  than  any  other 
section  of  the  country.  The  people,  in 
contradistinction  to  the  titled  and  privi- 
leged classes  in  the  large  cities,  such  as 
Bordeaux,  Lyons  and  Marseilles,  and  in  the  region  round 
about,  have  always  been  at  least  lukewarm  toward,  if  not  op- 
posed to,  the  dynasty  of  Louis  Napoleon.  After  the  declara- 
tion of  the  Republic,  they  were  not  satisfied,  because  they  did 
not  believe  the  provisional  government  sufficiently  democratic, 
and  they  would  no  doubt  have  set  up  some  new  authority,  had 
not  their  turbulence  and  open  rebellion  been  suppressed  by 
the  military  power.  The  spirit  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine, 
is  fully  shared,  if  not  exceeded,  in  Southern  France,  where 
such  ultraists  as  Blanc  and  Blanqui,  and  such  extreme  journals 
as  the  Marseillaise,  meet  with  intense  and  passionate  fervor. 

Lyons,  two  hundred  and  forty  miles  southeast  of  Paris,  is 
the  second  city  as  respects  population  and  manufactures  in  the 
country.  Its  population  has  increased  rapidly,  and  is  still  in- 
creasing. In  1852,  it  had  something  over  156,000  people; 
ten  years  after  nearly  319,000,  and  at  present  not  far  from 
400,000  people.  The  city  is  mainly  built  on  a  tongue  of  land 
between  the  Saone  flowing  from  the  north,  and  the  Phone 
from  the  east.  It  extends,  however,  to  the  opposite  banks  of 
both  of  those  large  rivers,  which  are  spanned  by  numerous 


196  THE   CITY  OF  LYONS. 

handsome  bridges.  Two  steep  hills,  Fourvieres  and  St.  Sebas- 
tian, on  the  right  bank  of  the  Saone,  are  partially  occupied  by 
streets.  One  of  these  leads  up  to  the  summit  of  Fourvieres, 
from  which  an  admirable  view  can  be  had,  not  only  of  the  city 
but  of  the  country  for  miles  around.  The  panorama  is  strik- 
ingly beautiful,  embracing  the  Cevennes  mountains  on  the 
south,  and  the  distant  but  distinct  Alps  on  the  east.  Though 
there  are  fine  quarters  in  the  city — the  quays  with  their  planted 
walks  are  the  finest — the  streets  generally  are  narrow,  irregular, 
and  dirty,  and  lined  with  high  buildings  of  a  most  ungraceful 
pattern.  The  Place  des  Terreaux  and  the  Place  Bellecour, 
and  two  or  three  other  squares,  are  very  attractive.  The  pub- 
lic buildings  are  neither  numerous  nor  handsome.  The  church 
of  the  Abbey  of  Ainay,  on  the  bank  of  the  Saone,  has  gloomy 
dungeons,  far  below  the  bed  of  the  river,  in  which  many  of 
the  early  Christians  are  said  to  have  been  confined  before  they 
were  put  to  death.  In  the  Archiepiscopal  Palace,  near  the 
Cathedral,  a  great  many  Protestants  were  butchered  in  1572, 
as  a  sequel  to  St.  Bartholemew.  The  town  is  surrounded  by 
a  line  of  detached  forts  crowning  its  different  heights.  Osten- 
sibly for  the  purpose  of  defence,  they  were  probably  made 
with  the  object  of  intimidating  the  Lyonnais,  notorious  for 
their  seditious  disposition,  and  of  all  the  red  republicans  in 
France  decidedly  the  reddest. 

The  silk  manufactures  of  the  city  are  the  largest  and  most 
important  in  the  world,  and  of  late  years  the  manufacture  of 
velvet  has  become  a  great  branch  of  industry.  Eighty  thou- 
sand machines  (metiers),  consuming  about  four  millions  of 
pounds  of  silk,  valued  at  $40,000,000,  produce  silk  manufac- 
tures worth  over  $60,000,000.  One  fourth  or  one  third  of  all 
this  is  consumed  at  home,  and  of  the  remainder,  which  is  ex- 
ported, by  far  the  greatest  part  comes  to  this  market.  I  do 
not  know  the  value  of  the  velvet  trade  (Lyons  now  exceeds 
Genoa  in  the  quality  of  its  velvet),  but  it  must  be  fully 
$10,000,000  a  year. 

The  city  is  very  ancient,  having  been  a  place  of  some  im- 
portance when  Csesar  invaded  Gaul.     It  was  sacked  by  the 


THE  LADY  OF  LYONS.  197 

Huns  and  Visigoths,  and  suffered  terribly  at  the  hands  of  the 
Saracens.  On  the  dissolution  of  the  Empire  of  Charlemagne, 
it  became  the  capital  of  the  kingdom  of  Provence,  and  was  an- 
nexed to  France  during  the  reign  of  Louis  IX.  Several  of  the 
Roman  Emperors,  Claudius,  Caracalla,  and  Marcus  Aurelius, 
and  the  famous  general  Germanicus,  were  natives  of  Lyons. 

Outside  of  the  city  proper,  are  many  beautiful  residences, 
and  grounds  belonging  to  the  wealthy  merchants,  who  are  for 
the  most  part  men  of  liberality,  culture  and  taste,  as  their 
delightful  homes  testify. 

Speaking  of  merchants,  recalls  M.  Deschapelles,  the  father 
of  the  ultra-sentimental  young  lady  to  whom  Bulwer  intro- 
duced us  years  ago.  "When  in  Lyons,  I  sought  in  vain  for 
Pauline,  but  found  a  prosaic  fellow,  who  gave  a  different  ver- 
sion from  that  of  the  stage.  I  don't  vouch  for  his  story :  I 
merely  repeat  it  in  his  words. 

Claude  Melnotte  was  in  truth  a  gardener's  son,  who  fell  in 
love  with  Pauline  while  she  was  buying  radishes  of  him  one 
morning,  when  her  father,  having  been  tipsy  the  night  before, 
refused  to  purchase  the  household  necessaries  as  was  Iris  custom. 
Claude  was  rather  susceptible,  and  sold  her  the  radishes  at  half 
price,  on  account  of  her  pretty  face,  as  he  said,  which  pleased 
her,  and  so  delighted  her  practical  parent,  when  he  heard  it, 
that  he  insisted  on  her  going  to  market  every  morning.  She 
did  not  like  to  go ;  but  papa  being  obdurate,  she  obeyed. 
Claude  finally  became  so  interested  that  he  gave  her  radishes 
for  nothing,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  purchase  mutton  and 
comed-beef,  presenting  them  in  the  name  of  love. 

Her  mercantile  papa  was  in  ecstasies  with  Claude,  declaring 
him  a  very  generous  person,  who  ought  to  be  encouraged.  He 
demanded  that  Pauline  should  take  everything  that  was  given 
gratis.  Pauline  became  the  regular  market-goer  for  the  family, 
and  at  last  Claude  told  her  he  would  like  to  marry  her,  if  the 
old  gentleman  would  come  down  handsomely.  She  felt 
affronted,  and  informed  the  elder  Deschapelles,  who,  living 
only  in  money,  inquired  into  Claude's  circumstances,  and  found 
he  had  not  returned  any  revenue  to  the  assessor  for  several 


198  ANOTHER    VERSION  OF  AN  OLD  STORY. 

years.    He  then  called  on  the  sentimental  youth,  and  threat- 
ened to  take  away  his  license. 

Claude  got  mad  and  brought  suit  for  the  things  he  had 
given  Pauline.  He  failed  to  get  judgment ;  and,  resolving  on 
revenge,  induced  one  of  Deschapelles'  clerks,  who  had  been 
refused  by  the  lady,  to  introduce  him  as  a  wealthy  chap,  that 
cared  no  more  for  a  thousand  dollars  than  A.  T.  Stewart  does 
for  ten  cents. 

Old  Deschapelles  was  taken  in;  and  so  was  Pauline,  for 
Claude  dyed  his  whiskers  and  put  on  a  wig  to  \voo  her  in.  She 
did  not  care  how  he  looked  or  talked ;  for  the  old  man,  having 
gotten  hard-up,  couldn't  pay  her  bills,  and  she  was  bound  to 
have  a  wealthy  husband.  "When  Claude  proposed  she  asked 
him  to  make  out  a  statement  of  his  effects,  and  having  sworn 
that  he  owned  ten  corner  lots  in  Lyons,  she  accepted  him,  and 
her  father  ratified  the  contract. 

They  were  married  at  once,  but  after  the  ceremony,  Descha- 
pelles discovered  the  trick,  and  put  his  new  son-in-law  out  of 
the  house,  receiving  a  black  eye  in  his  laudable  labor.  Claude 
would  have  been  sent  to  prison  for  his  scoundrelism,  but  he 
offered  to  go  into  the  army,  and  so  escaped  punishment.  He 
didn't  fight  very  well,  but  he  played  an  excellent  game  of  draw- 
poker,  and  in  two  years  made  money  enough  to  get  out  of  the 
service.  He  then  returned  to  Lyons  and  offered  to  live  with 
Pauline.  The  old  man  said  he  would  consider  his  case ;  that 
two  more  men  had  proposed  during  his  absence,  and  the  chap 
that  had  the  most  money  should  take  the  girl. 

Claude  fell  short  by  several  thousand  dollars,  and  was,  in 
consequence,  ordered  to  keep  out  of  the  way. 

Pauline  married  one  of  the  other  fellows — the  report  that 
she  went  to  Chicago  to  get  a  divorce  is  without  foundation — 
and  Claude  took  to  cognac  so  enthusiastically  that  he  fell  off 
one  of  the  Rhone  bridges  on  a  certain  night,  and  the  coroner 
afterward  made  $25  by  holding  an  inquest  on  the  body. 

Pauline  was  happy,  as  women  usually  are,  in  her  second 
marriage,  for  her  husband  paid  all  her  bills  without  grumbling. 
She  had  several  children,  grew  fat  and  frowzy,  and  died  at  last 


I 

MARSEILLES.  199 

of  a  chronic  and  combined  attack  of  beer  and  dropsy.  Claude 
never  knew  a  line  of  poetry  in  his  life,  and  couldn't  have  told 
the  difference  between  the  Lake  of  Como  and  a  Dutch  canal. 
"  Dost  thou  like  the  picture  ? " 

Marseilles,  the  most  important  seaport  of  France,  at  the 
head  of  a  tine  bay,  is  built  on  the  side  and  at  the  base  of  a  hill 
partially  surrounded  by  loftier  hills,  leaving  the  view  open  to 
the  sea.  The  old  town,  on  the  west,  is  uninviting  on  account 
of  its  narrow  and  crooked  streets  and  dismal  buildings.  The 
new  town,  on  the  east,  is  very  pleasant  and  well  built.  It  is 
noted  for  a  fine  thoroughfare  traversing  its  whole  length,  and 
for  the  Grand  Cours  promenade,  planted  with  trees,  adorned 
with  fountains,  and  lined  with  elegant  mansions.  The  churches 
and  public  buildings  are  not  very  noticeable  or  interesting. 

Marseilles  is  the  great  point  of  debarkation  for  the  Mediter- 
ranean, and  regular  lines  of  steamers  communicate  with  Spain, 
Italy,  Malta,  Syria,  Algiers,  Sicily,  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Turkey. 
All  nationalities  are  to  be  met  there,  and  all  languages  are 
spoken  in  its  streets  and  on  its  wharves.  To  the  stranger  it  is 
very  interesting  on  account  of  its  cosmopolitan  character. 
Staying  a  few  days  in  Marseilles  makes  it  seem  as  if  he  had 
travelled  over  a  large  part  of  the  world.  The  variety  of  cos- 
tumes one  sees  there  gives  the  impression  of  a  grand  masquer- 
ade, and  I  question  if  any  city  on  the  Continent  furnishes  so 
good  an  opportunity  to  study  manners  and  character. 

Marseilles  is  said  to  have  been  founded  by  the  Phoenicians, 
about  six  hundred  years  B.C.  It  has  had  various  fortunes  and 
misfortunes.  Having  taken  sides  with  Pompey,  it  was  be- 
sieged and  captured  by  Csesar ;  was  afterward  a  prey  to  the 
Goths,  Burgundians,  and  Franks ;  was  nearly  destroyed  by  the 
Saracens  suffered  from  war,  pestilence,  and  famine,  and  was 
at  last  united  to  France  in  1-1S1.  Its  population  is  about  300,- 
000— the  third  city  of  the  country— and  its  growth  is  steady 
and  rapid. 

The  old  province  of  Normandy,  including  the  departments 
of  the  Seine- Inferieure,  Eure,  Calvados,  Manche,  and  One,  is 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  picturesque  regions  of  France. 


200  SPLENDID   CHURCHES   OF  ROUEN. 

Its  landscapes  are  varied  and  picturesque.  Hill  and  valley, 
stream  and  woodland,  hamlet  and  town,  cottage  and  villa,  fly- 
past you  as  the  train  rushes  along,  as  in  a  dream  of  beauty. 
A  soft,  rich  greenness  lies  over  the  earth.  The  peasants  and 
laborers  are  thrifty  and  industrious,  and  appear  contented  and 
cheerful. 

Rouen,  once  the  capital  of  Normandy,  has  lost  much  of  its 
ancient  character  by  the  destruction  of  the  old  buildings,  the 
opening  of  new  streets,  and  the  general  spirit  of  improvement 
that  Louis  Napoleon  introduced  into  the  Empire.  Still,  there 
is  enough  of  the  old  town  left  to  make  it  attractive.  Rouen 
has  of  late  become  quite  a  manufacturing  city,  thereby  dimin- 
ishing its  romance  of  course,  and  has  so  increased  that  its  popu- 
lation is  now  estimated  at  100,000. 

Its  famous  churches — St.  Ouen  and  Notre  Dame — have  the 
reputation  of  being  among  the  finest  gothic  structures  on  the 
Continent.  They  are  seven  or  eight  centuries  old,  and  full  of 
historic  memories  and  associations.  They  are  in  a  very  good 
state  of  preservation,  considering  their  age,  though  headless 
angels,  legless  saints,  and  armless  cherubim  are  prominent  in 
their  architecture,  as  in  most  of  the  cathedrals  of  Europe. 

Neither  of  the  churches  is  finished,  of  course.  It  is  not 
the  policy  of  the  religious  managers  abroad  to  complete  their 
cathedrals.  If  they  did,  they  would  have  less  excuse  for  so- 
liciting donations ;  and,  like  the  horse-leech's  daughter,  they 
are  ever  crying,  "  Give,  give !  " 

The  stained  glass  of  the  Cathedral,  particularly  the  rose- 
windows,  is  very  fine  and  of  various  generations.  A  very 
severe  hail-storm  of  long  ago,  broke  many  of  the  panes, 
which,  having  been  supplied  by  modern  art,  contrast  most 
noticeably  with  those  of  more  ancient  date.  There  are,  in 
St.  Ouen,  two  rose-windows  on  opposite  sides  of  the  church. 
One  of  them  is  said  to  have  been  painted  by  the  pupil  of  the 
artist  who  made  the  first ;  and,  the  work  of  the  pupil  being 
superior  to  that  of  the  master,  the  latter,  in  a  fit  of  jealous 
rage,  put  out  the  other's  eyes.  This  story  is  told  of  so  many 
of  the  churches,  that  it  may  well  be  deemed  apocryphal. 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  201 

In  the  choir  of  the  Notre  Dame,  small  tablets  mark  the 
spot  where  the  heart  of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  his  brother 
Henry,  his  uncle  Geoffrey  Plantagenet,  and  John,  Duke  of 
Bedford,  were  interred. 

I  have  often  wondered  the  ecclesiastical  legend-makers  did 
not,  or  do  not,  display  more  variety  in  their  invention.  They 
have  the  same  old  tales  repeated  over  and  over  again  in  France, 
Italy,  Spain,  Germany,  and  Austria,  until  one  wearies  of  hear- 
ing them.  The*  persons  who  have  charge  of  the  department 
of  theologic  fiction  should  advertise  for  proposals  for  new 
legends,  which  would,  I  feel  confident,  be  an  improvement 
upon  many  of  the  old  ones,  both  in  interest  and  probability. 

St.  Yincent  is  even  older,  it  is  said,  than  St.  Ouen  or 
Notre  Dame,  though  not  so  well  known.  In  it  are  buried,  I 
was  told,  the  remains  of  William  the  Conqueror,  that  eminent 
pirate,  grandson  of  a  tanner,  from  whom  so  many  of  the  titled 
families  of  England  have  boasted  their  descent.  I  have  seen 
the  tomb  of  William  at  the  Abbayeaux  Homines  in  Caen,  and 
I  remember  he  died  in  one  of  the  monasteries  near  Rouen, 
from  the  effects  of  a  rupture  after  burning  Mantes.  His  ashes 
are  declared  to  be  in  both  places.  Perhaps  he  died  twice,  as  a 
slight  atonement  for  his  innumerable  villanies. 

The  Place  de  la  Pucelle  d' Orleans  every  one  visits;  for 
Rouen  is  always  associated  with  the  burning  of  Joan  of  Arc 
— that  most  barbarous  act,  for  which  the  English  are  responsi- 
ble. A  monument,  extolling  her  virtues  and  combining  a 
fountain,  is  erected  on  the  spot,  and  its  inscription  is  read 
almost  hourly  by  people  of  every  nation,  who  sympathize  with 
the  memory  of  a  heroic  woman  that  delivered  her  country 
when  man  had  despaired  of  its  cause.  Near  the  monument  is 
an  old  building  commemorating  Joan's  martyrdom.  The 
building  is  ornamented  with  a  number  of  statues  representing 
the  principal  persons  who  took  part  in  the  condemnation  and 
execution  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans. 

Other  objects  of  interest  are  the  ancient  stone  clock,  re- 
ported to  be  six  hundred  years  old,  the  Parliament  House  of 
the  Dukes  of  Normandy,  and  the  building  in  which  Francis 


202 


HAVRE  AND   CHERBOURG. 


I.,  Henry  VIIL,  Charles  Y.,  and  other  eminent  monarchs  are 
said  to  have  met,  and  consulted,  and  feasted.  On  the  outer 
walls  of  this  building  are  carved  representations  of  the  Field 
of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,  which  are  a  good  deal  marred  by  time 
and  the  elements. 

Havre  is  a  handsome  and  prosperous  city,  the  port  of 
Paris,  and  in  foreign  commerce  ranks  next  to  Marseilles.  It 
is  surrounded  by  ramparts  and  walls,  and  has  a  very  strong 
citadel.  Its  public  structures  are  in  no  wise  "remarkable ;  but 
it  is  well  built,  and  many  pleasant  villas  adorn  the  suburbs. 
The  city  was  founded  in  1509,  and  has  a  population  of  80,000, 
steadily  increasing. 

Cherbourg,  a  fortified  seaport  and  an  important  naval  sta- 
tion, has  some  30,000  people.  Its  most  famous  work  is  its 
breakwater,  stretching  across  the  roadstead,  and  completed, 
after  many  difficulties,  at  an  enormous  expense.  Its  houses 
are  of  stone,  and  slated,  and  its  principal  buildings  are  military 
and  naval  arsenals  and  hospitals. 


CHAPTER    XXYI. 


SCENES     OF     THE     WAR. 

IAR  makes  persons  and  places  memorable  that 
are  unknown  or  have  been  forgotten.  Geog- 
raphy and  history  sleep  in  time  of  peace ;  but 
the  strife  of  arms  wakes  them  up,  and  fills  them 
with  an  interest  they  did  not  before  possess. 
Until  the  great  struggle  between  France  and 
Germany,  hardly  any  one  thought  of,  or  cared 
for,  the  French  provinces  west  of  the  Rhine,  or 
for  the  various  localities  and  fortified  towns  which  have  since 
become  famous.  Names  never  mentioned  a  year  ago,  are  now 
in  everybody's  mouth,  familiar  as  household  words. 

The  region  of  country  along  the  Rhine  and  adjacent 
thereto,  is  not  attractive  and  picturesque,  as  many  suppose. 
Part  of  it  is  known  as  Champagne,  from  which  the  delicious 
wine,  made  from  grapes  grown  in  that  vicinity,  receives  its 
name.  All  vine-growing  regions,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
are  represented  as  especially  favored  by  nature.  The  inhab- 
itants are  poetically  described  as  of  a  superior  order,  and 
every  landscape  is  mentioned  by  visitors,  as  if  they  had  seen 
it  while  under  the  influence  of  the  chief  product  of  the  soil. 

I  have  heard  a  number  of  travellers  speak  of  the  depart- 
ments of  Meurthe,  Moselle,  Meuse,  Marne,  and  Ardennes,  as 
if  they  were  parts  of  Arcadia,  abounding  in  delightful  scenery, 
and  the  handsomest  peasantry  in  the  world.  When  one  visits 
that  quarter  of  France,  and  looks  at  it  for  himself,  he  fails  to 
find  the  broad  and  smiling  plains,  the  green  and  graceful  hill- 
sides, and  the  flowery  river  banks  he  has  probably  expected. 


204  FEMININE  PEASANTS. 

Nor  does  he  discover  the  hardy,  comely,  and  light-hearted  race 
who  spend  their  leisure  hours  laughing  and  dancing,  making 
love,  and  quaffing  the  purple  vintage  of  the  golden  season. 

He  sees,  instead,  an  uninteresting  and  rather  dreary  dis- 
trict, abounding  in  chalky  subsoil,  which  renders  it  at  once 
monotonous  and  disagreeable.  The  country,  for  the  most  part, 
is  flat  and  uninteresting.  The  vine-dressers  and  their  families, 
like  most  of  the  French  peasantry,  are  deplorably  ignorant, 
and  have  a  dull,  over-worked  look,  altogether  at  variance  with 
the  popular  opinion  of  French  intelligence  and  vivacity. 
They  live  in  dismal  stone  dwellings,  without  gardens  or  yards 
of  any  kind,  which  have  an  appearance  of  positive  discomfort. 
The  pleasant  farm-houses  and  cottages  so  numerous  in  America 
and  England,  do  not  exist  in  the  purely  agricultural  regions. 
There  are  large  tracts  of  cultivated  land  everywhere,  but 
hardly  any  comfortable  habitations. 

The  scattering  villages  have  nothing  to  recommend  them. 
They  are  usually  made  up  of  one  straggling  street,  a  continua- 
tion of  the  high  road  bordered  by  the  ugly,  ill- ventilated  stone 
houses  without  flowers,  shrubbery  or  trees,  making  them  look 
desolate  enough.  The  grape  region  is  almost  entirely  without 
fences  or  hedges  ;  the  roads  running  through  the  various  vine- 
yards whose  limits  are  indicated  only  by  heaps  of  stones. 

Some  of  the  feminine  peasants  would  be  pretty,  if  they 
were  neatly  and  properly  dressed ;  but,  as  a  rule,  they  display 
none  of  that  carefulness  and  coquetry  of  attire  for  which  their 
countrywomen  are  noted.  They  are  quicker  and  more  anima- 
ted than  the  men,  as  I  have  observed  is  generally  the  case  in 
Europe,  and  are  so  free  in  manner  and  generous  in  disposition 
that  they  are  often  brought  to  shame  by  their  very  generosity. 

Into  the  region  I  have  described,  the  Germans  marched, 
subsequent  to  the  engagements  of  Saarbriick,  Worth,  Hagenau, 
and  Weissenburg.  After  overrunning  a  large  part  of  the 
province  of  Lorraine,  they  compelled  Bazaine  to  surrender  at 
Metz  with  all  his  army. 

Metz,  one  of  the  strongest  fortified  places  in  Europe,  is  the 
capital  of  the  department  of  Moselle,  and  situated  at  the  con- 


METZ  AND  NANCY.  205 

fluence  of  the  Moselle  and  Settle  rivers.  It  is  a  quaint  and 
curious  old  town,  and  though  its  present  population  is  about 
57,000,  its  prosperity  belongs  to  the  past.  Its  citadel,  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Moselle,  is  a  stronghold  indeed,  where  a  few 
determined  men  could  defend  themselves  endlessly  against 
great  odds.  Its  Gothic  Cathedral,  with  a  spire  three  hundred 
and  eighty  feet  high,  is  an  interesting  specimen  of  architecture. 
Its  arsenal,  with  a  cannon  foundery  and  armory,  is  one  of  the 
largest  in  France.  The  loss  of  Metz  was  a  serious  blow  to  the 
French,  who  will  not  be  likely  to  recover  it  from  the  Germans 
at  least  during  this  century.  After  the  decline  of  the  House 
of  Charlemagne,  it  passed  into  the  possession  of  the  Emperor 
of  Germany,  who  fortified  it  with  all  the  engineering  skill 
then  available.  In  1552,  it  claimed  the  protection  of  France, 
to  which  it  belonged  until  its  recent  fall.  It  has  important 
manufactures,  and,  being  a  general  entrepot  for  foreign  mer- 
chandise, carries  on  quite  an  active  trade.  Metz  is  very  old, 
having  been  of  considerable  note  under  the  Romans.  The 
revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  very  seriously  impaired  its 
prosperity,  which  it  has  never  regained. 

Nancy,  twenty-nine  miles  south  of  Metz,  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  Meurthe,  is  one  of  the  best  built  towns  in  France,  and  has 
a  population  of  46,000  or  47,000.  The  Place  Eoyal,  the  prin- 
cipal square,  is  remarkable  for  its  handsome  buildings,  among 
which  are  the  Town-hall  and  the  Bishop's  Palace.  A  bronze 
statue  commemorates  the  memory  of  Stanislaus,  ex-king  of 
Poland,  who  did  much  to  beautify  the  toAvn.  The  most  con- 
spicuous structures  are  the  Cathedral,  the  Bon  Secours  Church, 
the  barracks  and  hospitals.  An  academy,  national  college, 
normal  school,  and  a  library  containing  over  thirty  thousand 
volumes,  are  among  its  educational  institutions.  Nancy  was 
taken  by  Charles  the  Bold  in  1475,  and  two  years  afterward 
he  lost  his  life  while  besieging  it.  In  1634,  it  fell  into  the 
possession  of  Louis  XIII.,  and  Louis  XI Y.  destroyed  its  forti- 
fications, but  its  citadel  is  still  standing. 

Yerdun,  in  the  department  of  Meuse,  is  well  fortified,  and 
has  numerous  manufactures.     Bombarded  and  taken  by  the 


206  CHALONS,   BBTEIMS,   AND   SEDAN. 

Prussians  in  1792,  it  was  restored  to  the  French  after  the 
battle  of  Valniy. 

Chalons,  where  Louis  Napoleon  had  an  intrenched  camp,  is 
the  capital  of  the  department  of  Marne,  and  situated  in  an  open 
country.  Its  importance  is  in  the  past,  having  been  one  of  the 
great  commercial  cities  in  Europe,  under  the  Merovingian 
kings,  when  it  contained  60,000  souls.  In  the  fifth  century, 
Attila  was  defeated  there  by  the  Romans,  and  in  the  sixteenth 
century  its  parliament  burned  the  bull  of  excommunication 
launched  by  Pope  Clement  VIII. ,  against  the  king  of  France. 
Its  fairs  were  once  celebrated ;  but  for  the  last  two  centuries  it 
has  been  rather  an  insignificant  town. 

Rheims,  twenty-five  miles  northwest  of  Chalons,  has  about 
56,000  inhabitants,  and  is  the  centre  of  the  champagne  wine 
trade.  Substantially  built  and  enclosed  with  walls,  its  streets 
and  squares  are  spacious,  and  some  of  them  handsome.  The 
Cathedral  is  a  noted  specimen  of  Gothic  architecture,  with  a 
finely  sculptured  portal  and  facade.  The  Porte  de  Mars, 
originally  a  triumphal  arch  erected  by  the  Romans,  is  much 
admired.  The  city  has  been  the  birthplace  of  many  distin- 
guished Frenchmen.  The  monarchs  of  France,  with  several 
exceptions,  were  crowned  there  from  the  time  of  Philip  Augus- 
tus to  the  revolution  of  1830. 

Sedan,  where  Louis  Napoleon  surrendered  with  the  whole 
of  MacMahon's  army,  will  henceforth  be  famous  in  history  as 
the  place  in  which  the  French  Empire  met  with  its  downfall. 
Until  recently,  it  was  chiefly  associated  with  the  chairs  which 
bear  its  name :  in  the  future  it  will  be  remembered  as  the  city 
where  the  third  Napoleon  lost  his  seat.  Sedan  has  a  popula- 
tion of  some  38,000.  In  its  principal  square  is  a  bronze 
statue  of  Turenne,  the  famous  commander,  who  was  born 
there,  and  whose  memory  must  have  made  the  humiliation  of 
the  French,  on  the  memorable  3d  of  September,  doubly  bitter 
and  mortifying.  The  town  was  long  an  independent  princi- 
pality, but  was  united  to  France  during  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIII.  It  contains  nothing  noteworthy  ;  has  an  active  agricul- 
tural trade,  and  extensive  manufactures,  with  several  schools 


RIVERS   OF  FRANCE.  207 

and  colleges  of  local  reputation.  The  citadel,  in  the  south- 
east quarter  of  the  town,  contains  a  large  arsenal,  which  is 
almost  the  only  public  building  worth  visiting.  Its  university 
under  Protestant  auspices  enjoyed  an  extended  fame  until  the 
revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  caused  its  suppression. 

The  river  Marne,  a  sluggish  stream,  two  hundred  and  ten 
miles  long,  rises  south  of  the  fortified  town  of  Langres ;  be- 
comes navigable  at  St.  Didier,  and  unites  with  the  Seine  at 
Charenton  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Paris. 

The  river  Meuse  has  its  origin  in  the  department  of  Haute- 
Marne ;  passes  through  the  department  of  Yosges  ;  disappears 
underground  near  Bazoilles ;  reappears  four  miles  distant  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Neufchateau  ;  becomes  navigable  at  Ver- 
dun ;  rims  through  Belgium  and  Holland ;  empties  into  the 
North  Sea  by  three  principal  mouths ;  its  length  being  four 
hundred  and  thirty -five  miles. 

The  Moselle,  whose  waters,  by  the  bye,  are  not  blue,  as 
the  popular  song  goes,  but  decidedly  brown,  rises  in  the  depart- 
ment of  Yosges — is  very  tortuous,  and  often  exceedingly  pic- 
turesque. It  is  navigable  from  its  confluence  with  the  Meurthe, 
near  Frouard,  and  separates  Luxemburg  from  what  has  been 
Rhenish  Prussia,  and  after  flowing  for  some  three  hundred  and 
thirty  miles,  joins  the  Bhine  near  Coblentz. 

The  Loire  rises  in  Ardeche,  at  an  elevation  of  nearly  four 
thousand  feet ;  flows  northwest  and  west  a  distance  of  six 
hundred  and  forty-five  miles — it  is  the  longest  river  in  France 
— and  empties  into  the  Bay  of  Biscay.  It  is  a  rapid  stream, 
and  its  navigation  is  usually  interrupted  at  least  half  of  the 
year  from  ice  in  winter,  drought  in  summer,  and  floods  during 
the  spring  and  autumn,  all  of  which  may  be  safely  said  to  im- 
pair it  for  practical  purposes.  It  has  a  number  of  affluents, 
and  is  navigable,  when  Nature  permits,  from  La  Norie  going 
with  the  current,  and  up  to  Eoanne  against  the  current.  The 
river  is  connected  by  canals  with  the  Saone,  Seine,  and 
Yilaine. 

The  Seine — as  much  a  source  of  interest  during  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war  as  the  Potomac  was  during  our  rebellion — has 


208  THE   VOSGES  MOUNTAINS. 

its  fountain-head  in  Cote  d'Or;  becomes  navigable  at  Mery; 
flows  through  Paris,  where  its  width  is  from  three  to  five 
hundred  feet,  and  empties  into  the  English  Channel  at  Havre. 
It  is  five  hundred  miles  long,  navigable  three  fifths  of  its  course, 
and  strikingly  picturesque  in  its  lower  part.  It  communicates 
by  canals  with  the  Loire,  Meuse,  Moselle,  and  Rhine,  and  is 
of  great  advantage  to  the  inland  commerce  of  the  country. 

The  Yosges  mountains,  where  so  many  strategic  movements 
were  attempted  by  both  sides,  and  made  brilliantly  successful 
in  several  instances  by  the  Germans,  run  from  the  northeast 
of  France  to  the  southeast  of  Belgium,  the  chain  terminating 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine,  near  Mainz.  The  mountains, 
connected  with  the  chain  of  the  Cote  d'Or,  the  Jura,  and  the 
Ardennes,  are  frequently  so  rounded  in  form  that  they  are  called 
balloons ;  two  of  these  balloons,  Alsace  and  Groebwiller,  being 
respectively  forty-seven  hundred  and  forty-three  hundred  feet 
high.  The  summits  of  the  Yosges  are  often  covered  with 
dense  forests,  and  contain  coal,  copper,  lead,  and  silver. 

Luxemburg,  of  which  so  much  has  been  heard  since  the 
Germans  crossed  the  Rhine,  is  a  Grand  Duchy  belonging  to 
Holland,  with  an  area  of  twelve  hundred  and  thirty  square 
miles.  It  is  generally  well  wooded,  but  is  rugged,  mountain- 
ous, and  covered  in  many  parts  with  heaths  and  marshes.  It 
was  first  governed  by  Counts,  one  of  whom,  Henry  IY.,  be- 
came Emperor  of  Germany,  in  1308,  under  the  title  of  Henry 
YII.  Forty-six  years  after,  Charles  IY.  made  it  a  duchy,  and 
in  1443  it  passed  by  marriage  to  Philip  of  Burgundy,  and 
through  him  to  Spain.  In  1659  part  of  it  was  ceded  to  the 
French;  but  in  1714  it  fell  into  the  possession  of  Austria,  until 
the  revolutionary  armies  made  it  part  of  the  French  Empire. 
It  was  converted  into  a  Grand  Duchy  in  1814,  and  in  1830, 
in  consequence  of  the  revolution  of  Belgium,  a  portion  of  it 
became  a  Belgian  province.  Henceforth  it  will  probably  be  a 
part  of  the  newly-formed  great  German  Empire.  Its  popula- 
tion is  something  over  200,000. 

Luxemburg — capital  of  the  Grand  Duchy — is  so  strong  by 
nature,  and  by  the  engineering  skill  which  has  been  lavished 


LUXEMBURG.  209 

upon  it,  that  it  has  been  pronounced,  after  Gibraltar,  as  nearly 
impregnable  as  any  place  in  Europe.  The  high  town,  in  con- 
tradistinction to  the  low  town,  is  two  hundred  feet  above  the 
latter,  on  a  steep  rock,  approached  from  below  by  flights  of 
steps  and  zig-zag  streets  cut  out  of  the  solid  stone.  The  entire 
rock  is  surrounded  by  a  massive  wall,  deep  ditches,  and  formid- 
able outworks.  That  part  of  the  fortifications  called  Le  Bouc 
is  a  rocky  promontory  commanding  the  valley  on  all  sides. 
The  town  is  substantially  built,  and  contains  something  like 
11,000  people,  exclusive  of  the  garrison,  usually  between  5,000 
and  6,000  men. 

No  war  in  Europe  has  done  so  much  to  discredit  fortifica- 
tions as  that  between  France  and  Germany.  Nearly  all  the 
towns  where  the  battle  raged  have  excellent  defences,  and 
Vauban  and  other  eminent  engineers  exhausted  their  art  in 
fortifying  the  French  frontier.  Any  one  with  half  a  military 
eye  would  doubt  that  the  formidable  fortifications  in  the  north 
of  France  could  be  so  ineffectual  to  resist  any  armies  as  they 
were  to  resist  the  Germans.  It  was  supposed  that  the  struggle  be- 
tween the  two  nations  would  be  mainly  confined  to  the  fortresses 
on  the  frontier,  and  that  the  greater  part  of  the  contest  would  be 
in  regular  sieges,  alternating  between  assaults  and  sorties.  The 
idea  that  the  Germans  would  invade  France  with  little  diffi- 
culty, and  adroitly  avoid  the  strongholds  especially  designed  to 
keep  them  out,  was  not  seriously  entertained  by  any  number  of 
intelligent  minds.  If  Yauban  be  conscious  of  the  melancholy 
failure  of  the  military  defences  "he  spent  so  much  of  his  life  in 
perfecting,  he  must  be  disappointed  and  indignant  indeed. 
Time,  treasure,  and  intellect  in  almost  unlimited  amount,  were 
devoted  to  fortifications  which  the  Prussians  marched  by 
without  pausing  to  reflect  what  innovations  they  had  made 
upon  the  art  of  war. 

Strasburg,  formerly  the  capital  of  the  province  of  Alsace,  is 
generally  regarded  as  the  strongest  fortified  city  in  France. 
Near  the  Yosges  mountains,  and  really  on  the  west  bank  of 
the  111,  it  is  practically  situated  on  the  Rhine,  communicating 
with  Kehl  (in  Baden),  on  the  opposite  side,  by  a  bridge  of 
14 


210  STRASBURG  AND    VERSAILLES. 

boats  across  the  latter  river.  The  town  is  triangular  in  form, 
enclosed  by  bastioned  ramparts,  strengthened  by  numerous 
outworks,  and  entered  by  seven  gates.  The  famous  citadel,  at 
the  eastern  extremity  of  the  city,  is  pentagonal  in  shape,  and 
has  always  been  considered  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  Vauban. 
It  was  there  the  gallant  Urich  took  refuge  during  the  terrific 
bombardment  until  he  was  forced  to  surrender  by  the  clamor 
of  the  citizens.  Albeit  a  French  city,  it  is  extremely  German 
in  appearance,  and  most  of  its  inhabitants  speak  both  lan- 
guages. The  vast  Cathedral,  thought  by  many  to  be  the 
finest  ecclesiastical  edifice  on  the  Continent,  though  founded 
in  504,  and  begun  in  the  tenth,  was  not  completed  until  the 
fifteenth  century.  One  of  its  projected  spires  has  never  been 
built ;  but  the  other,  four  hundred  and  sixty-six  feet,  is  the 
highest  in  Europe,  and  can  be  seen  for  miles  around.  The 
church  is  richly  decorated  with  sculpture,  and  the  choir,  at- 
tributed to  Charlemagne,  is  greatly  admired,  as  are  its  stained- 
glass  windows  and  the  wonderful  astronomical  clock.  Its 
population,  about*  85,000,  notwithstanding  they  are  more 
German  than  French,  are  very  proud  to  be  included  among 
the  latter,  and  have  little  liking  for  their  old  nationality.  The 
Germans  in  holding  Strasburg,  declare  they  are  only  reclaim- 
ing their  own,  which  is  true  enough  historically,  since  Louis 
XIV.  seized  it  and  annexed  it  to  France  without  any  pretext 
whatever.  Popularly,  the  old  town  is  best  known  for  its  pates 
de  foie  gras ;  but  its  manufactures,  especially  beer  and  leather, 
are  varied  and  extensive.  Its  canals  connecting  it  with  the 
principal  rivers  of  France,  and  with  the  Danube,  are  great 
commercial  aids.  Regular  steamers  ply  between  Basel,  Rotter- 
dam and  London. 

Versailles,  where  the  headquarters  of  King  William  were 
during  the  siege  of  Paris,  is  but  ten  miles  from  the  capital, 
and  so  remarkable  for  the  elegance  and  regularity  of  its  con- 
struction, that  it  has  the  reputation  of  one  of  the  handsomest 
towns  on  the  Continent.  The  magnificent  palace,  built  by 
Louis  XIV.,  was  for  more  than  a  century  the  residence  of  the 
kings  of  France.     During  Louis  Philippe's  reign  the  palace 


TOURS,    ORLEANS,  AND  BORDEAUX.  211 

was  restored,  and  is  now  used  as  an  historical  museum.  The 
vast  galleries,  with  their  paintings  and  statues  arranged  in 
chronological  order,  the>  splendid  gardens,  fountains,  groves 
and  walks,  with  the  pretty  palaces  called  the  Great  and  Little 
Trianon,  are  such  objects  of  interest  and  attraction  that  Ver- 
sailles is  one  of  the  first  places  the  stranger  visits. 

Tours  (the  provisional  government  took  refuge  there  for  a 
while)  is  situated  at  the  extremity  of  a  fine  plain,  and  its  chief 
entrance  is  by  a  superb  bridge  over  the  Loire.  The  old  town 
is  irregular  and  poorly  built ;  but  much  of  the  new  part  is 
ambitious  in  design,  and  not  without  beauty.  Its  present 
population  is  not  more  than  35,000,  though  it  once  boasted 
of  more  than  twice  that  number.  Like  so  many  of  the  French 
cities,  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  crippled  its  com- 
merce, and  'dwarfed  its  prosperity  to  such  an  extent  that  it  has 
never  recovered.  The  two  towers,  St.  Martin  and  Charle- 
magne, are  conspicuous  from  every  part  of  the  town,  and  are 
the  sole  relics  the  revolutions  of  1793  have  left  of  the  great 
Cathedral  of  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  which  had  stood  for  twelve 
hundred  years. 

Orleans  on  the  Loire,  sixty  miles  from  Paris,  is  very  old, 
and  in  the  main  ill-built.  It  was  erected  on  the  ruins  of  the 
ancient  Genabum,  and  was  afterward  captured  and  destroyed 
by  Caesar.  Capital  of  the  first  kingdom  of  Burgundy,  it  has 
given  the  title  of  Duke  to  a  member  of  the  royal  family  since 
the  days  of  Philippe  of  Valois.  Orleans  is  famous  in  history 
for  its  deliverance  from  the  English,  who  had  besieged  it  for 
six  months,  by  the  heroism  of  Joan  of  Arc,  ever  afterward 
known  as  the  Maid  of  Orleans.  Its  population,  which  has 
undergone  very  little  change  for  the  last  twenty  years,  is  in 
round  numbers  50,000. 

Bordeaux,  in  the  southwest  of  France,  on  the  Garonne, 
sixty  miles  from  its  mouth,  and  the  sea,  was  the  seat  of  the 
provisional  government  after  its  flight  from  Tours.  It  is  noted 
for  its  commerce  and  its  culture,  and  is  a  very  flourishing  city. 
The  old  part  of  the  town  is  meanly  built,  with  narrow  and 
crooked  streets;  but  the  new  quarters,  particularly  Chapeau 


212  DAMAGE  BY  THE   WAR. 

Rouge  and  the  Allees  de  Tourny,  are  noticeably  handsome. 
The  bridge  across  the  Garonne  is  sixteen  hundred  feet  long ; 
has  seventeen  arches,  and  is  a  splendid  work.  The  remains 
of  the  palace  of  Gallienus,  the  Cathedral,  the  Church  of  Feuil- 
lants,  in  which  Montaigne  is  buried,  and  the  great  theatre, 
built  by  Louis  XVI.,  seating  four  thousand  persons,  are  the 
principal  objects  of  interest.  Bordeaux  is  the  first  port  in  the 
south  of  France,  and  the  second  in  the  country  ;  its  commerce 
extending  to  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  its  manufactures  in- 
cluding almost  everything.  It  is  the  seat  and  centre  of  a  vast 
wine  trade,  in  which  the  greater  part  of  its  merchants  are  en- 
gaged. It  was  sacked  by  the  Visigoths,  ravaged  by  the 
Saracens  and  Normans;  passed  under  the  dominion  of  Eng- 
land by  the  marriage  of  Eleonore  of  Guienne  to  Henry  Plan- 
tagenet :  but  since  1453,  has  belonged  to  France.  Its  harbor 
is  capable  of  containing  twelve  hundred  ships,  and  is  accessible 
to  vessels  of  six  hundred  tons  burden.  The  population  is 
something  like  170,000,  and  steadily  increasing. 

The  injury  done  to  Paris  and  other  French  cities,  and  to 
the  country  generally,  by  the  war,  cannot  for  a  long  while  be 
estimated.  The  suburbs  and  vicinity  of  the  capital  have  of 
necessity  suffered  severely,  and  it  must  be  many  years  before 
the  great  centre  of  civilization,  the  most  beautiful  and  delight- 
ful city  of  the  world,  will  be  what  it  was  under  the  reign  of 
Louis  Napoleon,  who,  whatever  his  defects,  spared  no  pains  to 
improve  and  adorn  the  charming  metropolis  of  the  modern 
world. 

Fontainebleau,  thirty-eight  miles  from  Paris,  has  felt  the 
scourge  of  war,  and  the  German  soldiers  have  week  after  week 
filled  its  spacious  streets.  Its  famous  palace  is  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  in  the  country,  and  various  monarchs  who  have 
made  it  their  residence  have  lavished  upon  it  money  without 
stint.  Henry  IV.,  Louis  XIV.,  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  Louis 
Philippe  expended  upon  it  at  least  $8,000,000  or  $10,000,000, 
not  to  speak  of  Louis  Napoleon's  prodigality.  The  park  is 
beautifully  laid  out,  and  adorned  with  fountains,  cascades, 
lakes,   grottos,   statues   and  temples   corresponding    to    the 


ST.    CLOUD. 


213 


splendor  of  the  palace.  The  forest  has  an  area  of  eighty-four 
square  miles,  and  abounds  in  every  kind  of  game.  The  town, 
with  a  population  of  10,000,  is  the  birthplace  of  several  of  the 
French  kings,  and  has  numerous  historic  associations. 

The  Chateau  of  St.  Cloud,  five  or  six  miles  from  Paris,  is 
exceedingly  pleasant  and  handsome,  with  its  extensive  park  and 
beautiful  fountains,  and  was  a  favorite  residence  with  Louis 
Napoleon,  as  with  other  French  monarchs.  Henry  TV.  was 
assassinated  there,  and  there  Bonaparte  caused  himself  to  be 
proclaimed  first  consul.  The  Chateau  was  set  on  fire  and 
burned  during  the  war,  which  is  deeply  to  be  regretted,  both 
for  esthetic  and  historical  reasons. 

The  fine  wood  of  Vincennes,  a  favorite  resort  of  the  Pa- 
risians, is  said  to  have  been  partially  destroyed,  »as  have  no 
doubt  many  beautiful  buildings  and  delightful  spots  of  which 
we  have  yet  to  hear  the  particulars. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE     FRENCH     LEADERS. 

10  nation  of  modern  times  has  suffered  more  se- 
verely than  the  French  during  any  war  of  equal 
duration.  An  extraordinary  proportion  of  their 
general  officers  were  placed  hors  de  combat;  those 
not  killed,  wounded  or  captured,  being  relieved  or 
set  aside  with  a  fickleness  and  injustice  characteris- 
tic of  a  failing  cause.  Too  much  space  would  be 
required  to  mention  all  the  unsuccessful  leaders,  military  and 
civil,  the  French  had  during  the  struggle ;  but  I  wish  to  give 
brief  personal  sketches  of  the  most  prominent  men  who  figured 
in  the  contest.  A  number  who  were  conspicuous  have  passed 
out  of  sight,  if  not  out  of  memory ;  and  I  shall  confine  my- 
self, therefore,  to  those  who  were,  at  least  for  a  time,  central 
figures  in  the  most  sanguinary  drama  of  recent  centuries. 

Jean  Jacques  Alexis  Urich,  the  French  general  who  made 
such  a  stubborn  resistance  to  the  besieging  armies  at  Strasburg, 
is  a  native  Alsatian,  having  been  born  at  Phalsburg,  February 
15,  1802.  He  was  a  military  student  at  St.  Cyr,  and  became 
a  sub-lieutenant  in  1820.  He  rose  rapidly;  served  in  the 
Crimea,  and  afterward  commanded  at  Paris  a  division  of  in- 
fantry, which  was  comprised  in  the  fifth  army  corps  of  Italy. 
In  1857  he  was  made  commander  and  grand  officer  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  He  married  late  in  life  the  once  celebrated 
dancer,  Marie  Taglioni,  who  retired  from  the  stage  nearly 
twenty-four  years  ago.  Urich  has  always  distinguished  him- 
self for  coolness,  resolution,  and  courage,  and  it  is  stated  that 
the  mortification  of  being  compelled  to  surrender  the  admira- 


GENERAL  MACMAHON.  215 

bly  fortified  city  of  which  he  had  charge,  has  ever  since  preyed 
upon  his  mind.  Though  a  German  by  descent,  as  is  evident 
by  his  name,  he  is,  in  common  with  most  of  the  Alsatians,  in- 
flexibly loyal  to  France ;  and  it  was  a  matter  of  personal  no 
less  than  professional  pride  with  him  to  hold  their  ancient 
capital  against  its  enemies  to  the  very  last.  Urich  is  quite 
German-looking ;  has  a  strong,  bold,  nervous  face,  and  a  decid- 
edly military  bearing. 

Patrick  Maurice  MacMahon  might  be  thought,  by  his  name, 
one  of  those  peculiar  Frenchmen  who  abound  in  Dublin  and 
Cork.  He  is  descended  from  an  ancient  Catholic  family  of 
Ireland  that  attached  itself  to  the  fortunes  of  the  Stuarts ;  but 
for  generations  he  has  had  French  ancestors,  and  is  himself  the 
son  of  a  peer  of  France,  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Charles 
X.  He  was  educated  at  St.  Cyr ;  became  a  staff  officer,  and 
after  varied  service  won  many  laurels  as  Captain  at  the  assault 
on  Constantine.  He  afterward  became  Lieutenant-Colonel, 
General  of  Brigade,  Officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  Com- 
mander in  rapid  succession.  He  particularly  distinguished 
himself  in  the  Crimea,  and  was  entrusted  with  the  perilous 
honor  of  blowing  up  the  works  of  the  Malakoff,  which  was 
the  key  of  Sevastopol.  He  accomplished  his  purpose,  and  by 
the  most  heroic  bravery,  backed  by  the  desperate  courage  of 
his  soldiers,  he  finally  drove  the  Russians  from  their  position. 
Subsequently  he  commanded  the  twelfth  corps  of  the  army  of 
the  Alps,  in  the  Italian  war ;  and  for  the  glory  he  won  on  the 
field  of  Magenta,  he  was  made  Duke  of  Magenta  and  Marshal 
of  France.  At  the  coronation  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  in  1861, 
MacMahon  was  the  representative  of  France,  and  displayed  an 
almost  regal  pomp  on  the  occasion.  On  his  return  home,  he 
was  appointed  to  the  command  of  the  third  army  corps,  in 
place  of  Marshal  Canrobert,  and  in  1864  was  made  Governor 
of  Algeria. 

As  soon  as  France  had  declared  war  against  Prussia,  Mac- 
Mahon was  summoned  to  Paris,  and  made  next  in  command 
to  Napoleon  of  all  the  armies  in  the  field.  He  was  regarded 
as  the  ablest  soldier  of  the  nation,  and  great  expectations  were 


218  GENERALS  BAZAINE  AND  BOURBAKI. 

formed  of  his  future  success.  All  these  were  shattered,  how- 
ever, at  the  surrender  of  Sedan,  where  MacMahon  was  wound- 
ed, as  was  then  supposed,  mortally.  But  he  recovered  only  to 
experience  how  bitter  is  the  repeated  defeat  of  the  armies  once 
deemed  invincible. 

MacMahon,  though  in  his  sixty-third  year,  is  hale  and  vig- 
orous as  a  man  of  forty.  lie  has  a  fine  military  bearing,  and 
withal  a  pleasant  and  rather  benevolent  face.  His  hair  is  quite 
gray,  his  features  strong,  and  his  eye  dark  and  penetrating, 
which,  with  an  erect  and  graceful  carriage,  stamp  him  as  a 
model  of  a  French  Marshal. 

Francois  Achille  Bazaine  springs  from  a  military  family, 
and  has  shown  by  his  skill  and  courage  in  the  field  that  he  has 
inherited  its  martial  virtues.  Like  most  of  the  French  officers, 
he  served  in  Algeria,  and  won  honors  at  the  siege  of  Sevasto- 
pol. He  took  a  prominent  part  in  supporting  the  authority  of 
Maximilian  in  Mexico,  and  before  he  entered  the  capital  suc- 
ceeded Forey  as  General-in-chief  of  the  expedition.  While  in 
that  country  he  married  a  Mexican  woman,  with  the  intention, 
it  is  said,  of  gaining  political  influence  through  the  members 
of  her  family.  lie  was  charged  in  Mexico  with  duplicity,  dis- 
honesty, and  cruelty,  and  his  reputation  has  suffered  not  a  little 
in  consequence.  In  his  engagements  with  the  Germans  he  fell 
behind  his  reputation,  and  finally,  shut  up  at  Metz,  was  forced 
to  surrender.  Bazaine  looks  more  like  a  sturdy,  stubborn  sol- 
dier than  a  distinguished  captain.  In  person  he  is  short  and 
stout,  and  his  face,  though  intelligent,  reveals  more  strength 
of  will  than  intellect.  He  is  now  in  his  sixtieth  year,  and  has 
received  the  usual  badges  of  distinction,  such  as  crosses  and 
medals,  in  sufficient  number  to  flatter  the  vanity  of  any  man 
ambitious  of  military  fame. 

Charles  Denis  Bourbaki  is  of  Greek  origin,  but  was  born 
in  Paris,  April  22,  1816.  He  was  for  a  long  while  an  officer 
in  the  Zouaves ;  played  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  Crimea  at 
Alma,  Inkermann,  and  Sevastopol,  and  did  gallant  duty  during 
the  Italian  campaign.  During  the  late  war  he  fought  nobly  in 
the  cause  of  his  country,  and  probably  accomplished  all  that 


GENERAL    MacMAHON. 


GENERALS   CHANZY,   FAIDJBTERBE,   AND    TROCHU.  217 

could  be  accomplished  under  circumstances  so  adverse.  Though 
beaten  again  and  again,  he  was  always  ready  to  light,  and  to 
lead  the  forlornest  of  forlorn  hopes. 

General  Chanzy,  who  was  commander  of  the  army  of  the 
Loire,  and  on  whom  for  a  while  the  last  hopes  of  the  French 
cause  rested,  was  born  in  the  Ardennes,  in  1824.  At  sixteen 
he  shipped  as  a  seaman  on  board  a  man-of-war,  but  after  twelve 
months'  service  grew  weary  of  the  sea,  and  determined  to 
enter  the  army.  After  leaving  the  military  school,  where  he 
had  been  conspicuous  for  his  attainments,  he  became  an  officer 
in  a  regiment  of  Zouaves,  and  lived  in  Africa  until  the  Italian 
war,  into  which  he  entered  with  great  ardor.  He  covered 
himself  with  glory  at  Solferino  and  in  other  engagements,  and 
then  returned  to  Africa.  Recalled  from  there  only  last  Octo- 
ber, when  the  cause  of  France  looked  dark  and  desperate 
enough,  he  was  soon  put  at  the  head  of  the  army  of  the  Loire. 
He  felt,  no  doubt,  that  it  was  too  late  for  glory,  were  it  not  for 
patriotism ;  but  he  did  his  utmost  to  stem  the  tide,  which,  ere 
long,  swept  him  away.  If  he  did  not  gain  success,  he  deserved 
it,  by  untiring  energy,  unfaltering  will,  ceaseless  vigilance,  and 
boundless  courage. 

Louis  Cesar  Faidherbe,  born  at  Lisle,  January  3,  1818, 
entered  the  Polytechnic  school  in  his  native  city  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  and  the  school  of  Metz  two  years  after.  Before  he 
was  twenty-five,  he  had  taken  part  in  many  military  expedi- 
tions, in  Africa ;  in  Senegal  became  an  officer  of  engineers  in 
1852 ;  and,  two  years  later,  was  made  governor  of  the  colony. 
He  was  superseded  as  governor  in  1861 ;  but  he  resumed  his 
functions,  and  was  not  recalled  until  at  his  own  request  in 
July,  1865.  Since  then,  he  has  gone  through  the  regular 
grade  of  promotion,  and  in  all  the  positions  in  which  he  has 
been  placed,  has  discharged  his  duty  as  a  thorough  and  compe- 
tent soldier.  In  his  efforts  to  relieve  Paris  by  making  a 
diversion  of  the  besieging  army,  he  omitted  nothing  that 
energy,  skill  and  valor  could  achieve ;  but  his  efforts,  like  those 
of  the  other  French  commanders,  came  too  late. 

Louis  Jules  Trochu,  the  defender  of  Paris,  and  the  one  man 


218  LOUIS  ADOLPHE   THIERS. 

in  whom  the  French  reposed  faith  after  they  had  lost  confi- 
dence in  nearly  all  their  chieftains,  was  born  in  the  Morbihan 
— part  of  the  old  province  of  Bretagne — in  the  Spring  of 
1815.  After  receiving  his  military  education,  he  was  attached 
to  the  staff  of  Marshal  Bugeaud  in  Algeria  ;  was  aide-de-camp 
to  St.  Arnaud  in  the  Crimea,  and  afterward  commanded  a 
brigade  until  the  end  of  the  war.  He  was  general  of  division, 
and  remarkable  for  the  skill  and  bravery  he  displayed  during 
the  Italian  war.  At  the  close  of  1861,  he  had  seen  twenty- 
five  years  of  service,  and  had  taken  part  in  eighteen  campaigns. 
He  is  the  author  of  several  valuable  military  works.  During 
the  memorable  siege  of  Paris  his  position  was  one  of  the  most 
trying  that  can  fall  to  the  lot  of  military  commanders.  He 
had  dissensions  within  and  the  enemy  without ;  but  he  bore 
himself  calmly  and  ably  through  every  difficulty  and  danger, 
and  seemed  unwilling  to  yield  the  unequal  struggle  even  when 
nature,  fortune  and  fate  combined  against  him. 

Trochu  has  always  been  regarded  by  his  friends  and  com- 
panions in  arms  as  a  man  of  the  finest  nature  and  most  ster- 
ling character,  combining  modesty  with  bravery,  amiability 
with  resolution,  ability  with  candor,  and  kindness  of  heart  with 
chivalry  of  spirit.  His  appearance  is  prepossessing ;  his  face — 
more  like  that  of  a  student  than  a  warrior  in  expression — being 
pale  and  pensive,  while  his  features  are  regular,  clear-cut  and 
strong.  Many  incidents  of  his  private  life  prove  him  to  be 
gentle,  generous  and  noble ;  and,  though  his  extreme  modesty 
has  heretofore  prevented  his  advancement  and  the  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  abilities,  it  is  not  unlikely  that  a  grateful 
country  will  yet  crown  him  with  the  honor  he  deserves. 

Among  the  many  civilians  and  members  of  the  Provisional 
Government  prominent  after  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  Thiers, 
Favre  and  Gambetta  were  the  most  conspicuous. 

Louis  Adolphe  Thiers  was  born  at  Marseilles,  April  16, 
1797,  having  sprung  from  a  family  of  cloth  merchants  ruined 
by  the  Revolution.  He  was  admitted  to  the  Bar  at  an  early 
age ;  but  soon  perceived  that  he  was  better  adapted  to  politics 
and  literature  than  to  the  practice  of  law.     In  his  twenty-fourth 


JULES  FAVRE.  219 

year  he  went  to  Paris  to  seek  his  fortune,  where  he  became 
famous  as  a  politician  and  author,  and  acquired  an  ample  for- 
tune. He  has  also  distinguished  himself  as  a  journalist,  and 
for  his  violent  opposition  to  the  Napoleonic  dynasty  was  im- 
prisoned and  expelled  from  the  country.  After  the  adoption 
of  a  more  liberal  constitution  for  the  Empire,  he  entered  the 
Corps  Legislatif,  and  delivered  many  eloquent  speeches  on  the 
side  of  the  opposition.  He  always  protested  against  the  move- 
ment of  the  Italians  and  Germans  toward  national  unity,  and 
censured  the  late  Emperor  because  he  did  not  interfere  to  pre- 
vent it.  He  has  always  disliked  Prussia,  and  earnestly  advo- 
cated warlike  measures  toward  her  in  1866.  He  disapproved 
of  the  declaration  of  war  last  July  because  the  nation  was  not 
then  prepared.  In  spite  of  many  political  errors,  Thiers  has 
ever  been  consistent,  honest  and  resolute,  and  since  Sedan,  has 
striven  most  patriotically  to  stop  the  bleeding  wounds  of  his 
country.  He  has  sought  aid  and  sympathy  from  every  nation ; 
but  his  energy  and  zeal  have  been  of  no  avail.  Thoroughly 
French  in  temperament  and  character,  and  with  a  record  upon 
which  there  is  no  stain,  few  of  his  countrymen  will  more 
deeply  lament  the  eclipse  of  the  great  and  glorious  nation. 

Thiers  looks  more  like  a  merchant  than  an  author  or  orator, 
being  short  and  fleshy.  He  has  a  full  round  face,  very  fresh 
and  youthful  for  his  years,  a  bright  eye,  strong  nose  and  firm 
mouth.  As  energetic  in  body  as  vigorous  in  mind,  he  is  one 
of  the  youngest  old  men  in  public  life  in  all  France.  The 
natural  expression  of  his  face  is  pleasant  and  genial ;  but  it 
often  becomes  stern,  almost  fierce,  when  he  is  excited.  If  you 
were  to  meet  him  in  the  Rue  Vivienne,  you  would  suppose 
him  to  be  a  prominent  member  of  the  Bourse,  rather  than  a 
leading  statesman,  a  fiery  journalist  and  a  distinguished  moulder 
of  public  opinion. 

Jules  Favre,  born  at  Lyons  in  1809,  went  to  Paris  in  his 
twenty-first  year  to  practice  law.  As  an  advocate  his  reputa- 
tion has  been  above  that  of  any  man  in  France.  Of  recent 
years  he  has  distinguished  himself  in  politics,  and  in  the  Corps 
Legislatif  was  one  of  the  firmest  members  of  the  opposition. 


220  LEON  GAMBETTA. 

He  has  shown  himself  a  man  of  action  as  well  as  thought,  and 
has  striven  nobly  to  sustain  the  Republic  in  its  darkest  and 
gloomiest  hours.  Personally,  Favre  has  a  strong,  genial,  inter- 
esting face,  which  might  be  mistaken  for  that  of  an  American 
or  Englishman.  His  features  are  large,  and  his  clear,  penetrat- 
ing eye  under  heavy  brows  seems  to  see  into  the  soul  of  things. 
Leon  Gambetta  is  not  a  Corsican,  as  has  been  stated  ;  hav- 
ing been  born  October  30,  1838,  at  Cahors,  in  the  south  of 
France,  of  a  Genoese  family.  He  studied  law,  and  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar  before  he  was  twenty-one,  and  gained  very 
notable  success.  In  politics  he  has  been  an  "  irreconcilable  "  of 
the  Rochefort  type,  and  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  has  op- 
posed again  and  again  with  burning  words  the  views  and  course 
of  the  government.  After  the  declaration  of  the  Republic  he 
was  made  Minister  of  War,  and  has  been  untiring  in  energy 
and  full  of  resources  in  the  midst  of  disasters.  He  seems  to 
have  been  ubiquitous,  and  though  he  may  at  times  have  erred 
in  judgment,  no  son  of  France  has  done  more  than  he  to  up- 
hold the  fortunes  of  the  doomed  country,  or  striven  harder  to 
expel  the  enemy — O  how  vainly ! — from  the  invaded  soil. 
It  is  strange  he  has  not  broken  down  completely  under  his 
tremendous  labors.  He  is  very  Italian  in  appearance,  of  me- 
dium size,  rather  thick  set ;  has  a  dark  and  piercing  eye,  long 
black  hair,  and  an  expression  of  passionate  energy  in  his  face, 
which  well  illustrates  his  character.  It  is  thought  by  many, 
if  he  had  held  his  office  when  the  war  began,  that  the  re- 
sult would  have  been  very  different  from  what  it  has.  No 
man  connected  with  the  Provisional  Government,  unless  it  be 
Trochu,  manifested  such  activity,  perseverance  and  courage  in 
the  face  of  difficulties  so  formidable  and  obstacles  so  over- 
whelming. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

SPAIN. 

W    tM  32.PAIN,"  said  Talleyrand,  "is  a  country  in 

which  two  and  two  make  five."  Seeming 
so  to  a  Frenchman,  an  American  might  be  par- 
doned if  he  believed  it  a  land  in  which  two  and 
two  made  six,  or  any  other  number.  Ancient 
Iberia  is  certainly  a  region  of  the  unexpected. 
It  is  full  of  surprises  and  disappointments. 
Nothing  ever  happens  there  as  one  supposes  it  will,  and  the 
knowledge  of  to-day  is  ever  contradicted  by  the  experience  of 
to-morrow.  For  more  than  three  centuries  the  country  has 
been  an  enigma — politically,  religiously,  and  socially — that  no 
other  European  nation  could  solve ;  and  its  present  condition 
augments  its  anomaly.  Where  else  has  there  been  so  long  a 
Queen  without  a  dominion,  and  a  kingdom  without  a  king? 
They  who  have  never  visited  Spain  may  wonder ;  but  those 
who  have  been  there  will  be  incapable  of  new  surprises.  The 
land  where  "yes"  means  "no,"  and  "immediately"  "next 
week " — where  inn-keepers  assure  you  they  have  every  deli- 
cacy, when  they  know  they  are  besieged  by  starvation — where 
there  are  rivers  without  bridges,  and  bridges  without  rivers — 
where  highwaymen  rob  you  of  your  last  escudo,  and  then 
piously  commend  your  soul  to  God — where  "  princely  hospi- 
tality" signifies  fleas  for  bed-fellows  and  garlic  for  breakfast — 
the  land,  where  are  all  these  and  many  other  contradictions, 
soon  prepares  you  for  whatever  may  happen.. 

Land  of  romance  and  superstition,  of  chivalry  and  bigotry, 
of  Lope  de  Yega  and  Cervantes,  of  Cortez  and  the  Cid,  of  Moor- 


222  FANCY  AND  REALITY. 

ish  refinement  and  Gothic  rudeness,  of  the  Alhambra  and  the 
Inquisition,  of  heroism  and  persecution,  of  art  and  assassination, 
of  poetry  and  intrigue,  of  splendor  and  squalor,  we  have  all,  at 
some  time,  built  gorgeous  castles  upon  your  mountain  sides, 
and  viewed  with  rapture  our  broad  estates  watered  by  the 
Xenil  and  Guadalquivir.  We  shall  never  see  you  as  you  ap- 
peared to  us  in  our  youthful  dreams ;  for  the  outward  eye  dis- 
pels the  visions  of  imagination  ruthlessly  and  forever.  Your 
moonlight  will  never  fall  so  soft,  even,  in  Andalusia,  nor  your 
guitars  drop  such  sweetness,  though  under  the  towers  of  Se- 
ville, as  came  to  us  when  reverie  blossomed  in  the  rich  soil  of 
the  heart.  The  splendors  of  Cordova's  cathedral  will  lessen 
when  we  stand  in  its  marble  aisles ;  and  the  nightingales  will 
never  fill  the  evening  with  such  music  as  they  did  before  our 
wandering  feet  had  borne  us  to  the  ancient  palace  of  the 
Moorish  kings. 

When  I  first  went  whirling  over  the  soil — in  America  we 
should  call  it  creeping — in  the  midst  of  cigarette-smoke,  that 
made  the  compartment  look  like  a  miniature  edition  of  the 
Blue  Grotto  of  Capri,  and  when,  trying  to  smile  serenely  at 
the  three  sallow  caballeros  opposite,  who  sat  dignifiedly  smok- 
ing me  to  death,  I  heard  at  the  stations,  "  Yalladolid,"  "Ma- 
drid, "  Sevilla,"  "  Granada,"  roared  out  in  gutturals  fragrant 
with  garlic,  my  noble  castles  crumbled,  and  the  raw  wind  of 
the  Sierras  swept  down  and  chilled  my  buds  of  sentiment  to 
death. 

If  quite  different  from  what  fancy  and  romance  had  painted 
it,  I  was  very  glad  to  see  Spain,  and  my  memory  of  it  is  still 
most  welcome.  Three  things  I  have  found  needful  to  a  satis- 
factory visit — patience,  politeness,  and  pesetas. 

Armed  with  these,  I  could  be  mildly  seraphic  on  trains  that 
seemed  as  if  they  would  never  start,  and  could  inquire  unmoved 
for  "accommodations"  at  the  homeliest jposada. 

As  all  travellers  know,  the  impression  a  strange  country 
makes  depends  largely  on  what  they  see  first — on  the  way  they 
enter  it.  To  visit  Spain  advantageously  it  is  best  to  go,  as  I 
did,  from  France  across  the  Pyrenees,  instead  of  going,  as 


MENTAL  ACCLIMATION.  223 

many  do,  from  Cadiz  through  picturesque  Andalusia  to  the 
less  favored  provinces,  ending  with  the  dreariness  and  sterility 
of  the  Castiles.  No  two  cities  on  the  Continent  are  more 
different  than  Paris  and  Madrid ;  and  such  quaint  and  curious 
towns  as  Vittoria,  Burgos,  and  Yalladolid  prepared  me  for  the 
strange  kingdom  I  had  entered. 

No  person  need  be  told  when  he  has  crossed  the  confines 
of  the  French  Empire.  Having  done  so,  I  saw  at  once  I  was 
among  another  people — almost  in  another  world.  No  more 
the  vivacious  and  mercurial  manner  of  the  Gaul  greeted  me ; 
but  in  its  stead  the  grave  and  measured  deportment  of  the 
representative  of  half  a  dozen  races.  The  train  on  which  I 
travelled,  though  the  creation  of  French  capital,  seemed  affected 
by  the  soil  and  atmosphere  of  Spain.  Its  speed  was  retarded ; 
it  was  hampered  with  delays  at  every  station ;  it  became  the 
victim  of  endless  formalities  that  threatened  never  to  untangle 
themselves.  I  discovered  I  must  undergo  a  certain  acclimating 
process  of  mind  as  well  as  of  body.  The  mood  and  bearing 
that  had  served  me  elsewhere  on  the  Continent  would  not  sup- 
port me  there.  I  had  found  that  pretended  loss  of  temper  and 
assumed  violence  of  manner  are  beneficial  in  France,  Germany, 
and  Italy;  but  in  Spain  they  only  defeat  the  tourist's  ends. 

Peninsular  travel  is  favorable  to  one  of  the  highest  Chris- 
tian virtues — resignation.  This  is  less  difficult  to  practice  the 
moment  one  discovers  it  is  absolutely  necessary.  Job  would 
have  found  his  sphere  in  Spain ;  at  least,  the  need  of  exercis- 
ing his  characteristic  quality.  If  the  patient  are  the  strong, 
they  who  have  "  done  "  Spain  should  have  few  weaknesses.  I 
am  confident  that  I  have  an  outward  calmness  and  a  degree  of 
self-discipline  I  never  owned  before  I  crossed  the  Pyrenees.  I 
have  had  my  patience  tried  all  the  way  from  Pamplona  to 
Cadiz,  from  Badajoz  to  Barcelona,  and  though  I  may  have  lost 
my  temper,  I  never  advertised  for  its  return.  Spanish  officials 
are  often  very  provoking ;  but  they  won't  be  hurried,  and  can't 
be  bullied  to  advantage.  Inn-keepers  hold  as  an  article  of  faith 
that  their  patrons  are  immortal,  and  that  a  breakfast  ordered 
at  eight  in  the  morning  will  answer  quite  as  well  at  the  same 


224  SPANISH  POLITENESS. 

hour  in  the  evening.  But  if  you  use  even  such  mild  and 
allowable  oaths  as  Carai,  Caramba,  or  Vwya  usted  al  demonio, 
you  will  not  help  your  case.  Show  a  certain  energy  in  polite- 
ness, a  perseverance  of  courtesy,  and  you  will  be  duly  re- 
warded. 

I  remember  at  Valladolid,  that  after  ordering  a  bottle  of 
wine  again  and  again  at  the  Fonda  Universal,  and  failing  to 
get  it  in  four  hours,  I  sent  for  the  host,  and  told  him  I  sup- 
posed his  crowded  house — it  had  but  two  more  visitors  besides 
myself — prevented  him  from  attending  to  me,  but  that  if  he 
would  not  keep  me  waiting  more  than  six  hours  longer,  I 
should  esteem  him  the  noblest  of  gentlemen.  The  wine  came 
within  five  minutes,  and  afterward  I  had  no  further  cause  to 
complain  of  delay. 

In  driving  about  Burgos  I  could  not  induce  my  calesero  to 
go  beyond  a  snail's  pace,  until  I  told  him  I  was  in  no  haste 
whatever,  but  that  his  mule  was  walking  in  his  sleep,  and 
might  fall  and  hurt  himself.  He  replied,  "  Muchas  gracias, 
Senor,"  and  whipped  up  in  fine  style  for  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon. 

As  respects  manners,  the  Spaniards  deem  themselves  the 
politest  people  on  the  planet,  of  which  they  think  Spain  much 
the  best  and  by  far  the  most  important  part.  If  manners  do 
not  make  the  man  on  the  Peninsula,  they  go  far  toward  insur- 
ing his  comfort  or  its  opposite.  The  natives  are  certainly 
managed  #by  manners.  Any  departure  from  civility,  however 
small,  is  always  resented,  and  strict  observation  of  it  attended 
with  remunerative  results.  One  of  their  proverbs,  "  Politeness 
gets  what  money  can't  purchase,"  experience  has  often  taught 
me  the  truth  of.  The  Spaniards,  naturally  courteous,  expect 
courtesy  from  others,  and  appreciate  it  to  the  fullest.  When 
you  travel,  never  light  a  cigar  or  cigarette  without  offering  one 
to  those  in  the  same  carriage.  They  won't  take  it  unless  urged ; 
but  it  is  the  custom  of  the  country ;  it  shows  you  are  a  man 
of  the  world  and  of  good  breeding.  A  Spaniard  always  refuses 
once — that  is  etiquette — and  you  must  do  likewise ;  but  when 
he  is  invited  a  second  time  he  accepts.     At  a  cafe  or  restaurant, 


SPANISH  ETIQUETTE.  225 

if  you  order  coffee,  chocolate,  or  wine,  breakfast  or  dinner,  and 
there  are  persons  at  the  same  table,  invite  them  to  join  you. 
It  will  cost  yon  nothing,  for  they  won't  do  it ;  but  the  invita- 
tion will  advance  you  in  their  estimation. 

Lifting  the  hat  when  entering  the  presence  of  others  is  more 
imperative  in  Spain  than  in  France  or  Italy.  Not  to  do  so  in 
a  diligencia,  railway  coach,  or  a  room,  is  thought  a  violation  of 
good  manners,  if  not  a  positive  offence.  I  have  seen  sensitive 
Castilians  look  angry,  even  fierce,  and  twirl  their  moustache 
with  offended  dignity,  when  foreigners  neglected  to  raise  their 
hats.  But  when  the  careless  persons  remembered,  and  com- 
plied with  the  demand  of  etiquette,  the  sallow  faces  relaxed, 
and  a  gleam  of  good-humor  darted  out  of  the  jet-black  eyes. 
Hat-lifting  and  cigar-giving  are  passports  to  good  treatment 
everywhere.  Many  strangers  have  made  fast  friends  by  such 
simple  means.  Should  I  be  sent  to  Madrid  on  a  diplomatic 
mission,  I  should  engage  a  servant  specially  to  elevate  my 
sombrero,  and  a  tobacconist  to  supply  me  constantly  with  the 
best  of  Havanas.  By  liberal  use  of  both,  I  think  I  could 
manage  the  ministers  as  well  as  the  Cortes. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  different  provinces,  though  they 
know  and  care  little  about  each  other,  all  consider  themselves 
Spaniards,  and  as  such  are  jealous  of  their  dignity  and  reputa- 
tion. They  are  very  nice  as  to  their  personal  honor  (pundo- 
nor\  and  regard  themselves  as  gentlemen,  whatever  their 
station  in  life,  and  the  peer  of  any  foreigner,  be  his  position  or 
rank  what  it  may.  They  often  appear  cold  and  reserved ;  but 
they  are  easily  won,  and  once  conciliated  are  extremely  oblig- 
ing. Etiquette  is  very  rigid  with  them,  and  never  departed 
from  in  public.  When  you  visit  any  one  formally  the  proper 
costume  is -black,  as  it  is  with  us.  If  the  person  you  have 
called  on  be  out,  you  write  on  the  corner  of  your  card  E.  P.  {en 
2?ersona),  and  leave  it  with  the  servant.  First  visits  demand 
marked  courtesy,  which  means  nothing  unless  it  is  repeated  at 
the  second  visit.  If  you  are  welcome  you  will  be  conducted 
to  the  best  room,  placed  on  the  right-hand  of  the  sofa,  and 
your  hat  treated  with  as  much  consideration  as  yourself,  your 
15 


226  FEMININE  ADVANTAGES. 

host  seizing  it  ardently  and  placing  it  on  a  vacant  chair.  As 
you  take  leave  of  a  lady  yon  say,  "I  hurl  myself  at  your  feet, 
Madam"  {A  los  jpies  de  usted,  Senora) ;  and  she  responds, 
with  an  eloquent  casting  down  of  the  eyelids  and  a  graceful 
sweep  of  her  fan,  "I  kiss  your  hand,  Sir"  {Beso  d  listed  la 
mano,  Senor),  for  the  reason,  perhaps,  that  neither  you  nor  she 
intend  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  Then  she  looks  tender, 
and  uses  the  phrase,  "  May  you  depart  with  God,  and  continue 
well"  (  Vaya  usted  con  Dios,  que  usted lo  jpase  Men) !  "Where- 
upon you  assume  a  theologically  gallant  air — to  be  acquired 
only  in  Spain — and  reply,  "May  you  remain  with  God" 
(Quede  listed  con  Dios) ! 

The  name  of  the  Deity  occupies  a  very  prominent  place  in 
Peninsular  phraseology,  and  is  employed  under  a  variety  of 
circumstances.  Your  dearest  friend  intrusts  you  to  the  Divine 
keeping  as  he  folds  you  in  his  embrace ;  and  the  robber  does 
the  same  when  he  points  his  blunderbuss  at  your  head,  and 
gently  requests  you  to  stand  and  deliver. 

Men  are  treated  very  differently  from  women  by  Spanish 
ladies.  These  seldom  rise  on  receiving  the  former,  or  offer 
their  hand,  or  accept  the  arm  of  their  escort ;  but  they  kiss  each 
other  at  coming  and  going.  The  striking  contrast  is  thought 
to  arise  from  inherent  feminine  coquettishness,  the  dark-eyed 
Castilians  desiring  to  show  men  what  delights  they  are  debarred 
from  by  reason  of  their  sex.  One  of  the  reasons  assigned  by 
the  women  for  not  giving  their  hand  to  their  masculine  friends 
is,  that  the  doing  so  disarranges  their  mantilla ;  and  another, 
that  it  is  likely  to  be  mistaken  for  a  matrimonial  intention. 
The  Spanish  men,  who  are  always  saying  ill-natured  and  cyni- 
cal things  about  the  other  sex,  declare  the  mantilla  is  a  much 
more  serious  matter  than  marriage ;  that  an  ill-fitting  garment 
is  more  difficult  to  manage  than  a  poor  husband. 

Unless  a  Spaniard  presses  you  again  and  again  to  repeat 
your  visit,  and  assures  you  his  house  is  yours,  and  it  and  all  it 
contains  at  your  disposal,  you  can  conclude  you  are  not  wel- 
come; that  you  have  not  created  a  favorable  impression. 
Birthdays  are  made  much  of,  and  when  they  occur  formal 


MEETING  AN  ACQUAINTANCE.  22 1 

visits  are  expected.  New-Tear's  is  devoted  to  calls,  as  on  this 
side  of  the  sea,  and  presents,  remarkable  for  their  fitness  rather 
than  value,  are  often  made  to  those  on  whom  yon  call. 

It  is  etiquette  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  being  alone  with 
a  lady  within  doors ;  so  that  on  entering  a  drawing-room  you 
must  leave  the  door  open,  or  at  least  ajar,  if  she  be  unattended. 
Spaniards  are  jealous  and  suspicious,  and  inclined  to  put  the 
worst  construction  upon  appearances  and  opportunities.  They 
never  trust  their  women ;  and  for  that  reason,  no  doubt,  are 
often  deceived.  It  is  the  tendency  of  our  nature  to  be  no 
better  than  the  opinion  held  of  us. 

I  have  found  it  wholly  beneath  the  Iberian  dignity  to  be  in 
haste ;  and  as  the  people  have  little  to  do,  and  less  inclination 
to  do  it,  no  one  is  concerned  about  time.  Business,  in  our 
sense,  is  either  unknown  or  thought  a  foreign  innovation ;  and 
all  engagements  in  the  Peninsula  are  kept  as  loosely  as  some 
of  the  Commandments.  The  Spanish  are  very  reserved  and 
taciturn  to  strangers ;  but  with  their  acquaintances  they  are 
confidential  and  talkative.  One  of  the  penalties  of  Peninsular 
friendship  is  the  amount  of  time  required  for  its  sustainment. 
To  pass  your  friend  in  the  prado  or  alameda  with  a  single  nod 
and  "good-morning"  would  be  an  offence.  You  must  not 
only  stop ;  you  must  inquire  with  many  high-flown  compli- 
ments after  his  health,  that  of  his  wife,  his  children,  and  all  his 
near  relatives.  Unless  you  exercise  some  energy,  you  will  be 
kept  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  more  in  idle  talk ;  or,  perhaps,  be 
earned  oif  to  a  cafe  to  drink  a  cup  of  chocolate  or  a  bottle  of 
wine,  and  discuss  the  news  and  scandal  of  the  day.  If  you 
meet  him  near  your  hotel  or  lodging-house,  you  must  invite 
him  in,  though  he  is  not  expected  to  enter.  Should  you  un- 
dertake a  luncheon  or  dinner  in  the  house  of  a  friend,  eat 
heartily  if  you  would  stand  well  with  him,  even  if  your  ap- 
petite revolts.  You  can  never  convince  your  host  you  appre- 
ciate his  hospitality  unless  you  consume  a  certain  amount  of 
food. 

The  American  custom  of  paying  for  your  acquaintances  in  a 
cafe  or  restaurant  prevails  in  Spain,  though  nowhere  else  on 


228  .  MONEY  THE  REGULATOR. 

the  Continent.  You  have  more  latitude  there  than  here ;  for 
you  have  the  privilege  of  settling  the  bills  of  ladies  you  don't 
know,  if  you  like  their  appearance,  by  informing  the  waiter 
privately  that  such  is  your  intention.  Formerly  gentlemen 
who  went  on  shopping  expeditions  were  in  the  habit  of  paying 
for  everything  their  fair  friends  bought,  so  that  gallantry  be- 
came an  expensive  luxury.  It  used  to  be  said  in  Andalusia, 
where  women  are  more  coquettish  and  extravagant  than  in  the 
North,  that  a  long  purse  was  needed  for  a  short  walk  with  a 
lady.  The  custom  is  quite  obsolete  now  ;  and  she  who  allows 
you  to  make  purchases  for  her  is  supposed  to  be  devoid  of  high- 
breeding,  if  not  of  unexceptional  morals.  They  say  in  Seville, 
""Women  who  receive  money  never  pay  in  the  same  coin." 

In  the  fact  that  pesetas  vender  excellent  service,  Spain  is 
not  different  from  the  rest  of  Europe.  In  Great  Britain, 
France,  Italy,  and  Germany,  you  receive  perpetual  intimations 
to  open  your  purse ;  but  on  the  Peninsula  you  are  often  led  to 
infer  that  what  you  want  can't  be  had  on  any  account.  You 
are  constantly  met  with  Quien  sabe  f  Es  imposible  f  Eso  no 
2?uede  ser y  and  the  phrases  are  accompanied  with  so  much 
gravity  and  such  apparent  sincerity  that  you  are  inclined  to 
believe  them  true.  But  they  are  merely  designed  to  heighten 
the  effect  of  removing  the  difficulties  that  stand  in  the  way  of 
your  pleasure.  A  few  pesetas  will  melt  the  most  formidable 
obstacles.  The  silver  key  unlocks  galleries,  churches,  palaces, 
monasteries,  and  the  secretest  of  all  secret  chambers.  We 
Anglo-Saxons  think  time  is  money.  The  Iberians  hold  time 
as  nothing,  money  as  everything.  They  have  an  aphorism, 
somewhat  cynical  of  course  :  "When  the  heart  is  dead  to  love, 
it  hears  the  clink  of  coin  and  dances  to  its  tune."  If  a  Span- 
iard of  the  lower  order  could  be  energetic,  in  an  American 
sense,  he  would  be  so  before  the  vision  of  a  purse  from  which 
he  had  hopes.  He  undergoes  a  revolution  when  he  has  been 
feed.  His  face  loses  its  grimness  after  his  palm  has  been 
crossed  with  silver,  and  he  no  longer  persecutes  you  with  the 
national  Quien  sabe  ?  which  is  intended  to  have  the  force  of 
an  overwhelming  negative.     He  who  journeys  beyond  the 


OLD-TIME   TRAVEL.  229 

Pyrenees,  and  begrudges  custodians  and  servants  their  propina, 
puts  clogs  on  his  feet  and  scales  before  his  eyes.  A  judicious 
and  enlightened  employment  of  money  has  been  to  me  the 
best  guide.  It  opened  doors  that  had  grown  rusty  on  their 
hinges,  and  revealed  to  me  what  I  should  never  have  suspected. 
Never  fear  from  the  high  dignity  of  an  official  that  he  will  be 
offended  at  the  offer  of  money.  If  he  deems  it  an  insult,  he 
will  pocket  it  and  be  silent. 

Since  the  introduction  of  railways,  which,  being  built,  as  I 
have  said,  by  the  French,  are  not  the  natural  outgrowth  of  the 
country,  and  are  far  in  advance  of  the  time,  the  character  of 
travel  is  very  different  from  what  it  was.  Railways  are  de- 
structive to  romance  and  variety  of  character ;  but  away  from 
the  large  cities  and  off  the  beaten  paths,  diligencias,  muleteers, 
Maragatos,  and  the  coches  de  colleras  still  appeared  to  me  with 
all  their  peculiar  surroundings.  Whenever  I  could,  without 
serious  inconvenience,  travel  in  the  old-fashioned  and  pictur- 
esque way,  I  always  did ;  and  I  was  largely  the  gainer  by  it, 
for  I  saw  the  people,  and  their  customs  and  peculiarities,  as  I 
could  never  have  done  otherwise. 

If  one  could  devote  two  or  three  years  to  Spain,  and  were 
as  indifferent  to  physical  discomfort  as  the  natives,  he  might 
take  a  horse,  or  rather  mule — the  national  animal — and  go  in 
pursuit  of  adventures  after  the  manner  of  La  Mancha's  knight. 
Some  time  I  may  don  a  sombrero,  a  zamarra  (fur  jacket),  the 
indispensable  alfoiyas  (saddle-bags),  in  which  a  Spaniard  carries 
everything,  and,  mounted  on  an  Andalusian  steed,  accomplish 
the  geography  of  the  Peninsula. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


TRAVELLING    IN    SPAIN. 


'VERYBODY  who  does  not  go  by  rail  travels  by 
diligencia  in  Spain,  where  private  conveyances 
are  almost  unknown.  Even  royalty,  in  the  past, 
was  content  with  the  diligencia.  Don  Francisco 
de  Paula,  the  Infante,  so  transported  himself  and 
his  family  from  the  capital  to  the  sea-coast ;  and  the  reason 
Don  Enrique  gave  for  not  going  to  Madrid  to  marry  the  Queen 
was,  that  he  found  it  impossible  to  secure  a  place  in  the  vehicle. 
The  diligencia  is  lumbering  and  ungainly  enough  ;  but  it  fur- 
nishes far  better  company  than  in  France  or  Italy.  I  always 
felt  as  if  I  had  slipped  back  to  the  early  part  of  the  century 
when  I  found  myself  rumbling  over  the  Castiles  or  Granada, 
inhaling  cigarette  smoke,  dreaming  under  the  soft  night  of 
la  bella  incognita's  eyes,  or  watching  the  movements  of  the 
mayoral  (guard),  who,  armed  to  the  teeth,  would  pass,  without 
the  least  change,  for  Jose  Maria  himself.  The  guard,  like  the 
mounted  escort,  is  usually  a  retired  robber  who  has  been 
pardoned  and  pensioned,  and  would  gladly  return  to  his  purse- 
taking  if  it  were  as  profitable  as  it  used  to  be.  No  doubt 
there  is  often  an  understanding  between  the  guard  and  escort 
and  the  gentlemen  of  the  road  (in  Spain,  as  in  the  United 
States,  everybody  claims  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  stealing  and 
throat-cutting  are  not  considered  bars  to  the  distinction) ;  and 
this  understanding  prevents  the  plundering  of  passengers,  ex- 
cept in  isolated  instances.  Diligencias  are  sometimes  four  or 
five  days  and  nights  on  the  road ;  and  as  all  the  passengers  are 
locked  up  together,  and  as  Spaniards  of  both  sexes  are  very 


SPANISH  MULETEERS.  231 

susceptible  to  good-humor,  politeness,  or  a  proverb,  a  person 
of  a  philosophical  turn  of  mind  has  an  excellent  opportunity 
to  study  manners,  character,  and  costumes.  The  way-side 
inns  are  rarely  good ;  but  a  gratificacioncita  will  thicken  the 
chocolate,  improve  the  salad,  increase  the  freshness  of  the  eggs, 
and  whiten  the  bed-linen  amazingly.  Various  have  been  the 
comedies  and  melodramas  that  have  had  the  diligencia  for  a 
stage ;  and  the  haps  and  mishaps  at  the  posadas  furnish  variety 
and  zest  to  the  journey,  as  bacon  does  to  the  famous  olla  jpod- 
rida. 

Muleteers  are  not  to  be  separated  from  Spain,  though  they 
are  steadily  disappearing  before  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive. 
They  represent  the  genuine  character  of  the  country ;  seem 
half  Moorish,  and  are  called  arrieros,  from  their  arre,  arre, 
which  corresponds  to  our  "gee  up,  gee  up."  I  should  not 
have  seen  Eonda  and  Granada  to  advantage  without  the  assis- 
tance of  the  muleteer,  who,  being  constantly  on  the  road, 
knows  everything  that  is  occurring,  and  collects  a  fund  of  facts 
and  gossip  which  is  invaluable  to  the  traveller.  A  more  care- 
less, independent,  happy-go-lucky  fellow  than  the  arriero  I 
have  not  found  on  the  Continent.  Walking  by  the  side  of  his 
patient  beasts,  or  sitting  upon  his  cargo,  with  his  legs  hanging 
over  the  neck  of  one  of  the  animals,  listening  to  the  disagree- 
able monotony  of  the  leader's  wooden-clappered  bell,  or  sing- 
ing dismally  a  dismal  ditty,  he  was  to  me  the  type  of  the 
peculiar  civilization  that  surrounds  him.  He  smokes  and 
swears  and  sings  by  turns ;  carries  his  guitar  and  his  gun,  and 
is  ready  alike  for  business  gay  or  business  grave,  for  a  serenade 
or  a  homicide.  The  guitar  and  the  gun,  which  are  seen  to- 
gether in  the  Asturias  no  less  than  in  Granada,  and  which  no 
Spaniard  can  get  along  without,  reveal  the  softness  and  the 
sternness,  the  tenderness  and  the  cruelty,  the  gallant  and  the 
revengeful  traits  of  the  national  character. 

The  muleteer  is  at  bottom  a  fellow  of  sterling  qualities — 
honest,  industrious,  and  good-natured,  unless  affronted,  when 
he  becomes,  from  his  stubborn  courage  and  sinewy  frame,  a 
formidable  enemy.    The  landscape  of  the  country  will  lack 


232  THE  MAEAGATOS. 

completeness  when  it  loses  the  muleteers.  They  make  much 
of  its  picturesqueness  as  they  go  up  the  zigzag  mountain-paths, 
now  disappearing,  now  reappearing,  and  fill  the  gloomy  denies 
and  aromatic  valleys  with  rude-tinkling  bells  and  discordant 
tunes.  Singing  seems  their  favorite  occupation;  their  fond- 
ness for  vocal  exercise  arising  possibly  from  superstition 
(ineradicable  from  the  soil),  which  holds  that  singing  frightens 
away  evil.  If  evil  owns  an  ear,  especially  a  cultivated  ear,  it 
would  naturally  be  alarmed  at  the  high-pitched,  shattered  notes 
of  the  arriero,  who,  like  many  lovers  of  the  interdicted,  sings 
much  because  he  ought  not  to  sing  at  all.  Spain  is  not  a  land 
of  melody,  as  Italy  is.  The  voices  of  the  peasants  are  generally 
harsh ;  and  the  bells,  so  silvery  sweet  among  the  Apennines, 
are  clangorous  and  grating  beyond  the  Pyrenees. 

A  singular  species  of  muleteer  I  found  to  be  the  Maragato, 
whose  head-quarters  are  at  San  Roman,  in  Astorga.  He  pre- 
serves his  costume,  customs,  and  mode  of  life  like  the  Jew 
and  gypsy.  His  origin  is  questionable ;  he  does  not  know  it 
himself;  but  he  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  Bedouin,  to  whom  a 
mule  supplies  the  place  of  a  camel.  He  is  the  medium  of 
traffic  between  Galicia  and  the  Castiles ;  wears  leather  jerkins, 
cloth  gaiters,  red  garters,  and  a  slouching  hat,  such  as  is  seen 
in  Rembrandt's  pictures  of  the  Dutch  burgomasters,  whom 
indeed  he  much  resembles.  The  attire  of  the  woman — Mara- 
gata — is  still  more  unique,  consisting,  when  married,  of  a 
crescent-shaped  head-dress  that  looks  very  Moorish.  She  has 
her  hair  unconfined  and  falling  over  her  shoulders,  her  bodice 
cut  square  on  the  bosom,  and  her  petticoat,  resembling  an 
apron,  hangs  loosely,  is  open  before  and  behind,  and  confined 
at  the  back  with  a  bright-colored  sash.  She  is  very  fond  of 
jewelry  and  ornaments,  and  tricks  herself  out  on  gala  days 
with  huge  ear-rings,  chains  of  metal  and  coral,  medals,  crosses, 
relics,  and  whatever  she  thinks  will  assist  to  make  her  superb. 
She  is  a  very  Oriental  and  picturesque-looking  creature  in 
what  is  considered  full  dress,  and  suggests  both  the  Greek 
peasant  and  the  Barbary  Jewess. 

I  was  fortunate  in  witnessing  a  wedding,  which  is  a  very 


A   SPANISH   WEBBING.  233 

formal  and  solemn  occasion  among  the  Maragatos,  and  is 
deemed  as  momentous  there  as  when  celebrated  in  Fifth  Av- 
enue, with  all  the  surroundings  that  tinsel  and  tintinnabulation 
can  lend.  I  was  informed  that  those-  who  enter  into  the  state 
hold  it  to  be  the  most  serious  step  in  life,  partaking  deeply  of 
a  religious  character.  The  ceremonies  were  peculiar,  and  ac- 
companied with  a  feast.  Many  were  bidden,  and  no  one 
absented  himself  without  good  reason ;  for  it  is  considered  an 
offence  to  remain  away.  When  the  guests  were  all  assembled, 
some  one  was  chosen  to  preside,  and  the  president  put  into  an 
open  dish  any  sum  of  money  he  chose.  All  the  other  men 
were  compelled  to  give  the  same  amount,  and  the  total  was 
handed  to  the  bride  as  a  gift. 

They  have  not  learned  yet  to  advertise  the  contribution 
and  the  names  of  the  contributors  in  the  newspapers  ;  but  that 
fine  custom  will  come  no  doubt  with  larger  enlightenment, 
when  they  have  achieved  our  own  republican  simplicity  of 
manners.  The  bride  was  attired  in  a  sombre  mantle  that 
covered  her  like  a  pall,  to  which,  as  she  never  smiled  or  dis- 
played the  least  gayety  while  under  its  folds,  it  may  fitly  be 
compared.  She  wore  it  all  day,  and  was  never  to  put  it  on 
again,  I  was  told,  until  her  husband's  death,  when  it  would 
serve  for  a  garment  of  mourning.  Though  invited  by  every 
one,  she  did  not  dance  on  the  day  of  the  ceremony,  always 
declining  very  gravely  with  the  words,  "  Not  on  such  an  oc- 
casion as  this."  -At  sunrise  the  next  morning  two  roasted 
chickens  were  brought  to  the  bedside  of  the  married  pair,  and 
were  eaten  without  rising,  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  to 
typify  that  their  lives  were  united,  and  that  they  were  there- 
after to  have  everything  in  common.  The  same  evening  there 
was  a  ball,  which  was  opened  by  the  bride  and  bridegroom  ; 
but  the  dance  was  so  slow  and  serious  that  it  hardly  deserved 
the  name. 

The  Maragatos  are  a  melancholy  people,  and  take  all  their 
pleasures  and  recreations  as  seriously  as  if  they  had  been  born 
in  America.  They  can  be  seen  any  day  with  their  files  of 
Leon  mules — the  best  in  Spain — walking    along   the   dusty 


234:  AN  ANCIENT  VEHICLE. 

highway  to  La  Coruna,  swearing  and  hurling  stones  in  true 
arriero  style  at  their  patient  beasts.  They  are  much  less  pro- 
fane than  the  other  muleteers ;  but  the  entire  class  believe 
violation  of  the  Third  Commandment  essential  to  their  calling. 
They  assured  me  that  it  is  impossible  to  manage  a  mule  with- 
out swearing,  and  have  a  saying  that  an  ass's  ears  are  made 
long  to  catch  oaths. 

The  Maragatos  seemed  to  me  the  least  polite  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  Peninsula,  and  to  have  a  greater  dislike  to  "  out- 
side  barbarians "  than  any  of  their  countrymen,  all  of  whom 
hold  foreigners  as  quite  superfluous  in  the  plan  of  creation.  It 
may  be  for  this  reason  that  the  Maragatos  make  no  effort  to 
prevent  their  mules  from  brushing  wayfarers  or  horsemen  over 
the  declivities  of  the  mountain  paths,  with  the  projecting  bag- 
gage strapped  on  their  backs.  If  they  succeeded  in  crowding 
a  man  off  in  that  manner,  I  doubt  if  they  would  stop  to  learn  the 
consequences,  but  would  comfort  themselves  with  the  thought 
that  no  foreigner  had  a  right  to  interfere  with  the  progress  of 
a  well-conditioned  mule. 

The  coche  de  colleras  (coach  of  horse-collars)  is  passing 
away,  but  I  saw  and  tried  it  several  times  in  the  rural  districts 
and  on  the  public  roads,  at  a  distance  from  the  large  cities.  It 
is  very  like  the  English  lumbering  vehicle  of  Queen  Anne's 
time,  and  the  French  equipage  so  shapelessly  conspicuous  in 
France  during  Louis  XIY's  reign,  and  which  we  still  see  in 
Yandermeulen's  pictures  representing  the  stately  journeys  of 
the  pretentious  monarch,  and  in  the  specimens  preserved  in  the 
Hotel  de  Cluny.  The  coche  is  as  tawdry,  awkward,  and  un- 
comfortable as  any  hidalgo  could  desire,  and  so  harmonious 
with  the  character  and  claims  of  many  of  the  inflated  old  Dons 
that  I  do  not  wonder  they  have  been  loth  to  its  surrender.  It 
suggests  the  sixteenth  or  seventeenth  century  creeping  through 
the  nineteenth ;  but  is  much  less  an  anachronism  in  Spain  than 
it  would  be  anywhere  else. 

The  coche,  drawn  by  six  horses  or  mules,  is  under  the  guid- 
ance and  direction  of  the  master  and  his  assistant  (mozo),  both 
of  whom  are  often  fantastically  attired  in  high-peaked  hats 


Jll 


Af 


/■  'Mr 


\    I'il  ■  ■  ,11 

*  wfel 


MOUNTAIN  TRAVELS. 


AN  ADMIRABLE  SWEARER.  235 

worn  over  a  bright-colored  handkerchief  fastened  after  the 
manner  of  a  turban,  a  gay  embroidered  jacket,  plush  breeches, 
a  red  or  yellow  sash,  and  shoes  of  undressed  leather.  In  the 
sash  is  the  navaja  (knife)  that  all  the  peasants  carry,  for  ordinary 
and  extraordinary  use,  for  pacific  and  hostile  purposes. 

No  Spaniard  of  the  humbler  class  is  without  his  knife.  He 
is  enamored  of  offensive  weapons,  seldom  going  anywhere 
without  his  gun,  and  never  parting  company  with  his  blade. 
He  is  very  dexterous  with  the  navaja.  In  his  hands  it  is  a 
formidable  weapon.  He  wields  it  like  a  gladiator ;  can  hurl  it 
with  precision,  and  drive  the  blade  into  a  post  or  a  man  at  a 
distance  generally  reckoned  safe.  He  is  extremely  ignorant 
of  anatomy  as  a  science ;  but  he  understands  it  socially  ;  that 
is,  he  knows  the  exact  spot  at  which  to  aim  a  mortal  blow,  and 
can  reach  the  heart  of  his  adversary  as  quickly  and  surely  as 
any  surgeon. 

The  mozo,  often  called  el  zagal — strong  youth — is  one  of 
the  most  energetic  of  Iberian  natures.  He  is  a  thorough  fac- 
totum, and  seems  incapable  of  fatigue.  One  of  his  most  im- 
portant duties  is  to  pick  up  stones  on  the  highway  (all  mules  on 
the  Peninsula  are  driven  by  stones),  and  discharge  them  at  the 
beasts  during  the  journey.  With  this  lapideous  ammunition 
he  is  perpetually  supplied,  and  yet  he  uses  it  as  lavishly  as  raw 
recruits  do  their  cartridges  in  their  first  engagement.  He  is 
probably  the  most  accomplished  swearer  of  the  whole  Jehu 
class,  who  are  all  proficient  enough  to  have  a  cerulean  influence 
on  the  atmosphere.  The  variety  and  extent  of  his  oaths  are 
astonishing ;  but  he  makes  no  account  of  his  superiority  in  this 
regard,  and  is,  I  suspect,  quite  unconscious  of  his  genius  for 
the  profane.  There  is  no  saint  in  the  calendar  and  no  evil  in 
the  Decalogue  he  does  not  couple.  He  anathematizes  all  cre- 
ated things,  and  if  his  invocations  were  answered  he  would 
bring  down  the  universe  in  fragments  upon  his  irreverent  head. 
The  ideal  and  exemplar  of  the  mozo  is  the  mayoral.  To  be 
regularly  perched  on  the  box  and  be  entrusted  with  the  exclu- 
sive guidance  of  six  mules  is  his  highest  aspiration,  and  he  be- 
lieves, with  a  sort   of  quadrupedal-and-vehiculary   theology, 


236  THE  EVENTFUL  START. 

that  the  gates  of  Paradise  are  just  broad  enough  to  admit  the 
cumbersome  coach  which  is  the  object  of  his  hourly  worship. 

How  well  I  remember  the  preparation  and  starting  from  a 
way-side  posada  of  the  first  coche  I  rode  in ! 

This  starting  is  an  event,  and  illustrative  of  the  country. 
The  attendant  circumstances  of  getting  oif  in  the  morning 
were  full  of  drollery.  Though  it  seemed  hardly  fair  for  an 
American  to  laugh  at  the  people  that  had  m  much  to  do  with 
the  discovery  of  his  country,  I  could  not  help  it.  It  may  have 
been  justifiable  for  their  interference  in  our  then  rather  con- 
fused international  affairs.  At  any  rate,  I  enjoyed  the  elabo- 
rate exordium  of  departure. 

The  harnessing  was  primitive — the  various  pieces  of  rope 
and  leather  were  laid  on  the  ground  like  a  net,  the  animals 
dragged  into  it,  and  finally  fastened  within  the  mysterious  tan- 
gle. The  master  then  collected  the  heterogeneous  reins ;  the 
mozo  gathered  a  quantity  of  stones  in,  his  sash ;  the  servants 
and  assistants  of  the  venta,  where  I  had  lodged  over  night, 
appeared  with  sticks,  and  two  or  three  old  women,  who  are 
older  and  homelier  in  Spain  than  anywhere  else,  came  out 
with  their  shrill  voices,  accompanied  by  a  few  lean  dogs  and 
thirsty  loungers,  resolved  to  assist  on  the  occasion.  The  master 
shouted,  swore,  and  shook  the  reins ;  the  mozo  shouted  louder, 
swore  deeper,  and  hurled  a  volley  of  stones — he  is  an  animated 
catapult  at  such  times ;  the  attendants  of  the  inn  brandished 
their  sticks,  assaulted  the  beasts,  and  bellowed  vociferously ; 
the  female  antiques  screamed  in  altissimo ;  while  the  loungers 
gesticulated  and  made  grimaces  that  would  have  frightened 
any  animal  but  a  Spanish  mule  into  mortal  speed.  This  com- 
bined clamor  and  attack,  this  enforcement  of  material  logic, 
finally  resulted  in  the  moving  of  the  ponderous  coach,  which, 
as  it  groaned  over  the  uneven  highway,  resembled  a  Dutch 
lugger  on  wheels.  It  did  not  seem  that  the  crazy  old  vehicle 
could  reach  the  end  of  the  journey  before  its  absolute  dissolu- 
tion; and  I  was  as  much  surprised  as  any  well-regulated  mind 
allows  itself  to  be  in  Spain,  when  I  learned  that,  at  the  close 
of  the  day,  it  had  accomplished  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles. 


CASTILIAN  PEASANTS.  231 

The  hours  were  not  misspent.  I  found  entertainment  in 
listening  to  the  calling  out  of  the  driver  to  his  obdurate  beasts. 
They  had  sonorous  and  many-syllabled  names,  like  Balcatilla, 
Robidetto,  Arthemayor,  and  Chippimenta,  and  the  last  syllable 
was  dwelt  upon  with  a  species  of  operatic  quaver  that  would 
have  elicited  applause  at  the  Theatre  Royal  of  Madrid. 

The  truest  and  purest  representatives  of  Spain  I  found,  of 
course,  in  New  and  Old  Castile.  Though  the  largest  provinces 
in  the  country,  embracing  a  third  of  its  entirety,  and  contain- 
ing some  of  the  most  ancient  and  national  cities,  they  have, 
with  a  good  deal  of  fine  scenery,  much  of  the  dreariest  and 
sterilest  in  the  kingdom.  The  mountainous  regions  include 
numerous  landscapes  which  render  the  plains  and  table-lands 
(jiarameras  and  tierras  di  campo),  without  trees,  hedges, 
Enclosures,  or  landmarks,  oppressively  sad  and  monotonous. 
Those  plains,  like  the  Siberian  steppes,  give  rest  neither  to  the 
eye  nor  to  the  mind.  Dryness  is  their  pervading  feature ;  and 
during  the  summer  the  soil  is  parched  and  scorched  by  the  sun. 
In  the  Castiles,  every  object,  animate  and  inanimate,  is  literally 
burned  umber.  The  land,  the  huts  which  make  up  the  scat- 
tered hamlets,  the  peasants,  the  mules,  the  stews  even,  and  the 
scant  verdure,  are  all  brown — a  color  I  ought  to  approve  of  for 
personal  reasons,  but  which  in  excess  may  be  objectionable 
artistically.  When  I  first  travelled  through  those  spacious 
provinces,  the  apparent  desolation,  the  mud-hovels,  or  mud- 
huts,  made  of  sun-dried  bricks  (adobes),  the  hard-featured,  un- 
washed peasantry  toiling  in  the  dusty  fields,  so  oppressed  me 
that  I  repeated  Che  seccatura  !  again  and  again,  as  mile  after 
mile  of  the  tawny  and  barren  soil  stretched  and  winked  under 
the  blazing  sun.  The  poverty  and  destitution  reminded  me  of 
the  worst  parts  of  southern  Ireland,  though  in  Munster  the 
land  smiles  with  greenness,  and  the  people  are  merry  in  the 
midst  of  misfortune.  The  Castilian  peasants  seem  indolent  as 
they  lean  upon  their  spades  to  watch  the  passing  train,  or  rum- 
bling diligencia,  or  the  perspiring  pedestrian — always  an  object 
of  wonder,  for  no  Spaniard  can  comprehend  how  any  one 
should  walk  if  he  can  help  it ;  but  they  resume  their  labor 


238  THEIR  SELF-SUFFICIENCY. 

when  curiosity  is  satisfied,  and  work  hard,  and  faithfully,  and 
long.  They  are  the  least  attractive  to  the  stranger  of  all  the 
provincialists  in  Spain ;  but  they  have  good  and  sterling  quali- 
ties, and  are  probably  superior  to  any  of  the  rest  in  integrity 
and  character.  They  improve  upon  acquaintance ;  are  patient, 
loyal,  hospitable,  and  cheerful,  with  strong  domestic  tastes,  and 
a  keen  sense  of  a  grim  kind  of  humor. 

It  is  a  striking  instance  of  compensation  that  the  people 
who  are  compelled  to  live  in  such  a  dreary  region,  and  doomed 
to  endless  toil,  are  entirely  contented,  and  would  not  exchange 
their  squalid  huts  for  the  costliest  abodes  of  Granada  and  Se- 
ville. It  is  their  comfort  and  their  pride  that  they  are  Castili- 
ans,  which  means  that  they  have  few  equals  and  no  superiors. 
They  know  nothing  of  other  countries  than  Spain,  and  have 
no  desires  beyond  it.  They  are  in  the  world,  but  not' 
of  it.  Their  sphere  is  bounded  by  the  few  acres  they 
cultivate,  and  their  sympathies  confined  to  the  members 
of  their  family  and  their  immediate  neighbors.  Their 
thoughts  rise  no  higher  than  their  awkward  head-covering 
(montera),  and  their  cloaks  (capas)  and  overcoats  (anguarinas) 
are  the  boundaries  of  their  wishes.  They  have  no  glass  in  the 
rude  apertures  called  windows ;  they  live  on  chick  peas  (cicers) ; 
they  bake  in  the  summer  and  freeze  in  the  winter ;  they  hardly 
have  water  enough  to  drink  in  the  dry  season,  and  would  never 
think  of  wasting  it  in  washing.  But  as  they  are  natives  of 
Castile,  where,  by  the  by,  the  soap  of  that  name  is  never  seen, 
they  are  not  unreasonable  enough  to  expect  such  inferior  and 
vulgar  blessings  as  ease  and  abundance. 

Seeing  a  stout  and  manly  fellow  laboring  by  the  road-side 
one  day,  I  lifted  my  hat,  knowing  the  sensitive  dignity  of  the 
people,  and  bade  him  good-morning.  He  returned  my  saluta- 
tion, and  stopped  his  work  for  politeness  sake. 

"  You  have  a  hard  life,"  I  said. 

"We  keep  ourselves  busy;  but  we  live,  and  are  satisfied." 

"  And  yet  you  have  so  little.  You  toil  all  day  for  coarse 
food  and  common  lodging." 

"  But  we  live  in  Castile."      .  \ 


PERFECT  CONTENTMENT.  239 

"  Is  that  compensation  for  perpetual  labor  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  it  is  an  honor  to  be  born  here,  and  a  glory  to 
till  this  ancient  soil." 

"  Are  you  not  discontented  sometimes  \ " 

"  Rarely ;  but  when  we  are,  we  pray  to  the  Virgin,  and  re- 
member it  is  vouchsafed  to  few  to  be  Castilians." 

"  Couldn't  you  do  better  elsewhere  than  here?" 

""Where  should  we  go;  are  we  not  already  in  Castile? 
There  is  no  other  place  for  a  true  Spaniard." 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  a  fine  olla,  and  rich  wine,  and 
long  siestas  every  day  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  I  could  have  them  here." 

"  You  wouldn't  want  to  change  your  residence,  then,  for  a 
better  condition  ? " 

"How  could  we  be  in  better  condition  if  we  quitted  Cas- 
tile?" 

I  saw  the  lusty  peasant  could  not  imagine  any  good  to  exist 
out  of  his  province,  and  begging  him  to  accept  a  cigar,  I  rode 
on,  and  thanked  Fortune  that  she  had  not  cast  my  lot  in  that 
arid  waste. 

There  is  a  native  dignity  about  the  Castilians  that  is  very 
remarkable.  Albeit  narrow,  ignorant,  and  extremely  poor, 
they  believe  themselves  favored  of  fate.  Their  manners  are 
often  better  than  those  of  the  prosperous  citizens  of  Madrid. 
They  do  not  beg,  nor  borrow,  nor  make  pretence,  and  so  far 
they  are  gentlemen ;  and  being  gentlemen,  they  are  right  in 
fancying  themselves  without  superiors. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


THE    CAPITAL. 


URGOS  is  one  of  the  first  cities  of  interest  I 
visited  in  Spain.  I  enjoyed  its  dulness  and 
decay  after  the  newness  and  gayety  of  Paris, 
and  admired  the  Gothic  Cathedral  and  its  spires  of 
delicate  open  stone-work.  They  seemed  so  fragile 
that  they  might  be  blown  away  by  the  wind,  which 
sweeps  over  the  city  as  if  it  were  bent  on  undoing 
the  pious  enterprise  of  Ferdinand  el  santo.  Burgos  teems 
with  the  dubious  history  of  Rodrigo  Ruy  Diaz,  the  redoubtable 
Cid  whose  marvellous  deeds,  as  recorded,  the  Spaniards  have 
fed  their  national  vanity  upon  for  generations.  I  was  shown 
the  castle  in  which  the  doughty  champion  was  married,  and 
the  City  Hall  {Casa  del  Ayuntiamento)  where  his  bones  are 
preserved  with  the  headless  skeleton  of  his  faithful  spouse, 
Ximena.  A  most  energetic  gentleman  Rodrigo  must  have 
been,  not  only  in  life,  but  after  it,  as  is  proved  by  the  story — 
solemnly  believed  there — that  his  corpse,  in  complete  armor, 
mounted  on  Babieca,  knocked  down  a  Jew  at  Cardena,  who 
had  the  temerity  to  pluck  the  hero  by  the  beard.  Mrs.  Cid, 
no  doubt  a  domestic  and  quiet-loving  lady,  fearful  of  such  post- 
mortem pugnacity,  proceeded  straightway  to  put  her  liege  lord 
under  ground ;  and  so  he  was  carried  to  Burgos,  where  he  has, 
so  far  as  known,  behaved  himself  as  a  dead  gentleman  ought  to. 
Yalladolid,  the  old  capital,  seemed  a  good  place  to  visit, 
from  the  satisfaction  I  experienced  in  quitting  it  as  soon  as  I 
had  seen  its  unsightly  and  unfinished  Cathedral,  its  dreary 
streets,  and  its  ruined  buildings. 


I 


THE  CITY  OF  MADRID.  241 

Once  in  Madrid,  I  asked,  what  almost  everybody  else  asks : 
Why  was  the  capital'  placed  here  %  Philip  II.  is  responsible 
for  the  blunder ;  and  the  only  reason  he  ever  gave  was  that 
Madrid  is  the  geographical  centre  of  Spain.  I  have  always 
fancied  he  was  actuated  by  the  malignity  that  so  permeated 
his  nature.  He  must  have  been  gratified  by  reflecting  how 
very  uncomfortable  his  survivors  would  be  in  the  sombre  city, 
whose  climate  is  described  as  nine  months  Greenland,  and 
three  months  Tophet. 

Madrid  is  to  me  the  least  agreeable  capital  in  Europe,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  St.  Petersburg,  the  dearest.  It  is  the 
Washington  of  the  Continent,  which  no  one  visits  a  second 
time,  unless  called  there  by  business  or  compelled  by  destiny. 
The  Spaniards  are  proud  of  Madrid  because  it  is  in  Spain,  and 
have  told  me,  with  great  unction,  that  it  is  nearly  two  thou- 
sand years  older  than  Rome.  I  am  confident  it  was  never 
heard  of  until  the  tenth  century ;  but  still  I  should  think  it 
might  have  been  built  before  any  other  city,  as  a  warning  not 
to  have  another  like  it.  It  was  rejected  in  turn  by  Iberian, 
Roman,  Goth,  and  Moor,  and  might  have  been  to-day  an  in- 
significant town  but  for  the  gout  and  phlegm  of  Charles  V., 
who  was  benefited  by  its  rarefied  air.  I  have  always  ascribed 
to  the  location  of  the  capital  at  Madrid  instead  of  Lisbon,  the 
decline  of  the  country,  since  it  led  to  the  revolt  of  Portugal, 
and  many  subsequent  ills.  Various  were  the  efforts  to  remove 
the  capital  from  the  windy  basin  on  the  Manzanares ;  but  it 
could  not  be  done.  Nations,  like  individuals,  are  unable  to 
resist  their  fate.  I  should  send  my  friends  to  Paris  and  my 
foes  to  Madrid,  where  nothing  but  a  vigorous  constitution  pre- 
vents men  from  being  blown  into  the  nearest  cemetery.  The 
delicious  but  pernicious  breeze  of  the  Roman  Campagna  is 
nothing  to  the  air  of  the  ancient  Majoritum,  which,  as  is  truly 
said,  will  not  put  out  a  candle,  but  will  extinguish  life.  Many 
strangers,  broiling  in  the  sun  of  the  Plaza,  have  been  delighted 
with  the  coolness  the  Guadarama  sends  them,  until  they  dis- 
covered the  undertakers  were  watching  them  with  professional 
interest. 

16 


242  LIVING   IN  SOCIAL   SIEGE. 

The  sole  pleasure  of  going  to  Madrid  is  in  the  conscious- 
ness that  you  are  not  compelled  to  stay  in  it.  The  heat  is  in- 
tense, and  so  diy  and  oppressive  that  one  feels  half  suffocated. 
When  there  is  a  breeze,  it  is  like  that  of  Sahara,  stifling  and 
full  of  burning  sand.  Philip  II.  never  displayed  his  malignity 
more  than  when  he  selected  the  capital.  He  no  doubt  enjoyed 
in  secret  the  discomfort  that  would  be  entailed  for  generations 
on  the  unfortunates  obliged  to  dwell  in  Madrid. 

The  climate  is  truly,  as  has  been  said,  three  months  Tophet, 
and  nine  months  Greenland. 

In  my  opinion,  there  are  but  four  months — April  and  May, 
October  and  November — favorable  to  a  visit,  though  the  car- 
nival time  is  the  gayest,  if  not  the  most  agreeable,  season. 

The  Madrilenians,  like  the  Parisians,  live  in  flats,  and  have 
staircases  in  common ;  but  the  doors  to  their  apartments  are 
thick  and  strong,  and  provided  with  wickets,  through  which 
the  servant  or  occupant  surveys  you  before  admission.  I  ob- 
tained an  idea,  from  such  precautions,  that  they  consider  them- 
selves in  a  state  of  social  siege,  which  is  not  very  far  from  the 
truth ;  for  every  paterfamilias  seems  imbued  with  the  idea  that 
the  external  world  is  only  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  carry 
off  his  wife  and  children,  and  that  it  behooves  him,  therefore, 
to  be  perpetually  on  his  guard.  Some  of  the  interiors  are  des- 
olate enough ;  and,  coming  out  of  one  in  the  Calle  de  Toledo, 
with  an  American  one  day,  after  being  fearfully  bored,  I  sug- 
gested placing  Dante's  familiar  Lasciate,  etc.,  above  the  door. 

"  That  would  be  classical,"  said  my  companion ;  "  but  it 
wouldn't  be  half  so  sensible  as  the  vernacular  over  the  wicket, 
'  You're  not  good-looking,  and  you  can't  come  in.'  " 

I  can't  commend  the  hotels  of  the  capital ;  on  the  whole,  I 
think  the  boarding-houses  (casas  de  huespedes)  are  superior ; 
but  it  is  a  very  fair  place  for  thirsty  souls,  and  none  in  the 
wide  world  is  thirstier  than  your  Castilian.  The  common  re- 
mark that  they  don't  drink  water  on  the  Continent  does  not 
apply  to  the  Spaniards,  the  dryness  of  the  climate  producing 
a  like  effect  upon  the  inhabitants.  I  found  one  of  the  few 
good  things  in  Madrid  to  be  water,  particularly  that  from  the 


STREETS  AND  SQUARES.  243 

spring  outside  of  the  Puerta  Segovia ;  although  the  city  is  not 
lacking  in  other  palatable  liquids.  The  Guadarama  snows 
supply  the  place  of  ice,  and  the  half-and-half  (mitj  e  mitj), 
made  of  barley  and  pounded  chochos,  the  clarified  verjuice 
[agraz)  mixed  with  Manzanilla  wine,  and  the  beer  combined 
with  lemon  juice  {cerbeza  con  limon),  I  thought  very  re- 
freshing, and  found  my  opinion  constantly  confirmed  by  the 
natives.  In  all  the  public  squares,  promenades,  cafes,  restau- 
rants, and  theatres,  drinks  may  be  had  at  any  moment. 
Wherever  I  walked  or  lounged,  men  and  boys  were  going 
about  with  matches  for  lighting  cigars  and  cigarettes,  and  with 
vessels  containing  water,  lemonade,  wine,  and  mixed  potables. 
The  Spaniards  smoke  so  constantly  that  they  keep  thirsty 
from  morning  to  night,  and  really  pass  their  days  in  alterna- 
tions between  fire  and  water,  or  something  stronger.  Emul- 
sions are  great  favorites  with  them  in  sickness  as  well  as 
health.  The  leche  de  Almendras,  a  sovereign  remedy  for  va- 
rious ills,  is  almost  exactly  the  apLoydafo]  (pappiaxov  ayadov  of 
Athanseus,  and  is  believed  to  be  excellent  from  its  age,  which 
always  begets  reverence  in  Spain. 

Beyond  certain  buildings  and  certain  quarters,  I  was  hardly 
repaid  as  a  sight-seer  for  my  exertions  in  the  capital.  Few  of 
the  streets  are  handsome  or  impressive,  and  nearly  all  of  them 
have  the  gloominess  and  unchangeable  aspect  which  spring  from 
the  superabundant  bile  of  the  nation.  The  Puerta  del  Sol  (it 
is  called  the  Gate  of  the  Sun  because  it  was  once  the  eastern 
gate,  on  which  the  rising  sun  shone)  is  now  a  public  square  in 
the  middle  of  the  city,  whence  the  principal  thoroughfares 
radiate.  The  Puerta — Murat  perpetrated  the  butchery  of  1808 
there — was  formerly  the  resort  of  idlers,  gossips,  and  news- 
mongers, and  furnished  opportunity  for  studying  costumes. 
But  modern  progress  has  brought  changes  in  dress  and  habits, 
and  substituted  for  the  place-hunter  and  adventurer  the  cice- 
rone and  mendicant.  The  former  is  not  so  desirous  to  be 
employed  as  he  is  in  other  countries ;  but  the  latter  is  among 
the  most  importunate  of  his  tribe. 

I  have  often  heard  that  Spanish  beggars  are  so  sensitive 


244  IRREPRESSIBLE    BEGGARS. 

that  if  alms  are  once  refused  they  will  not  ask  again.  I  should 
have  been  glad  to  find  them  so.  But  I  have  had  a  very  dif- 
ferent experience.  Denial  seems  to  sharpen  their  energy  ;  and 
the  only  phrase  reputed  to  have  an  exorcising  power,  "Will 
you  excuse  me,  my  brother,  for  God's  sake  % "  {Perdone  usted 
por  Dios,  Hermano  f)  has  had  no  more  effect  upon  them  than 
would  appeals  to  justice  upon  New  York  hackmen.  I  once 
thought  that  the  cheerful  habit  our  imported  beggars  have  of 
showing  their  ulcers  and  their  wounds  was  born  of  our  inven- 
tive atmosphere.  But  I  have  found  it  is  a  fashion  borrowed 
from  the  Peninsula,  as  all  who  visit  Spain  will  find  likewise. 
The  Puerta,  the  plazas  generally,  the  Prado,  and  the  Calle  de 
Alcala,  swarm  with  the  blind,  the  crippled,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate of  every  sort.  He  or  she  who  has  a  hideous  scar  or  sore 
is  sure  to  display  it,  knowing,  if  your  heart  does  not  respond 
to  the  appeal  for  charity,  that  your  sensibility  will  so  revolt  as 
to  seek  protection  through  the  purse.  Of  course  nearly  every 
mendicant  is  professional,  and  many  are  impostors,  though 
poverty  is  so  common  and  employment  so  scarce  in  Castile 
that  three  quarters  of  the  Madrilenians  might  be  pardoned  for 
soliciting  alms.  Such  ghastly  spectacles  of  marring  and  maim- 
ing are  unusual,  even  in  Southern  Europe ;  albeit  I  suspect 
not  a  few  of  them  are  artificially  produced.  I  have  seen  mira- 
cles wrought  in  the  secular  walks  of  life  that  are  almost  as 
remarkable  as,  though  far  less  numerous  than,  those  recorded 
by  the  Church.  Sightless  wretches  who  besieged  me  with 
prayers  in  the  morning  I  have  discovered  scanning  their  reals 
with  a  critical  eye  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  one-armed  and  legless 
fellows  sunning  themselves  in  the  Prado,  would,  under  my 
mortal  vision,  be  restored  to  soundness  in  the  Buen  Retiro 
Gardens. 

The  Plaza  Mayor,  where  executions,  autos-da-fe,  and  royal 
bull-fights  once  took  place,  is  a  large  square,  interesting  now 
from  what  it  has  been.  The  buildings  fronting  the  Plaza  were 
leased  formerly  with  the  understanding  that  the  balconies  and 
front  windows  should  be  given  up  to  the  nobility  when  spec- 
tacles were  presented.     The  quarter  has  been  much  injured  by 


GRAND  BOULEVARD  AND  ROYAL  PALACE.  245 

fires,  which  the  priests  at  one  time  attempted  to  extinguish  by 
displaying  "  the  Host,"  but  with  such  slender  effect  as  to  ex- 
cite the  suspicion  that  fire  is  an  heretical  element. 

The  Prado,  the  grand  boulevard  of  the  capital,  two  miles 
and  a  half  long,  is  to  Madrid  what  the  Champs  Elysees  are  to 
Paris.  It  was  a  meadow  once,  as  the  same  indicates ;  but  it  is 
now  entirely  innocent  of  grass  or  verdure  of  any  kind,  except 
that  supplied  by  the  long  lines  of  trees.  Under  them,  on  the 
iron  chairs — two  quartos  are  charged  for  their  use — sit  the 
natives  in  the  early  morning.  Spain  rises  betimes,  and  sup- 
plements sleep  by  the  siesta,  particularly  in  the  afternoon  and 
evening;  smoking,  reading  newspapers,  chatting,  and  flirt- 
ing in  the  grave  manner  that  befits  the  Castilian.  I  can't 
admire  the  Prado ;  it  is  a  hot  and  dusty  place  when  it  is  not 
chilly  and  uncomfortable ;  but  it  is  entertaining  to  open  your 
mental  note-book  there,  and  jot  down  the  peculiarities  of  sur- 
rounding men  and  women  who  carry  on  the  soft  war  that  has 
been  waged  so  perpetually  since  the  distinctions  of  physiology 
were  first  recognized.  The  eight  fountains  of  the  Prado  are 
handsome,  especially  those  of  Neptune,  Apollo,  and  Cybele ; 
and  their  falling  waters  are  most  grateful  music  when  heard 
under  the  burning  sun. 

The  Buen  Retiro  and  Botanical  Gardens  are  neglected, 
and  have  fallen  into  decay ;  but  the  Campos  Eliseos  are  well 
laid  out,  and  much  frequented  by  both  sexes  fond  of  music, 
dancing,  feasting,  and  fireworks. 

The  reputation  of  the  Royal  Palace  drew  me  to  it.  Like 
most  things  material  and  mental,  it  appears  better  at  a  distance 
than  upon  near  approach.  It  is  a  vast  building  of  white  stone, 
one  hundred  feet  high  and  four  hundred  and  seventy  feet  each 
way,  marred  by  its  square  port-holes  and  its  ungraceful  chim- 
ney-pots. The  statues  that  adorn  it  are  poorly  executed,  and 
their  disproportion  often  offends.  The  different  saloons  are 
richly  frescoed,  ornamented  with  marbles,  heavily  gilded ;  but 
fine  taste  is  not  observed  where  money  has  been  lavished  most. 
The  windows  overlook  the  river  Manzanares,  sometimes  so  dry 
in  summer  that  the  bed  is  actually  sprinkled  to  lay  the  dust ; 


246  «  MAGDALEN  ASYLUM. 

but  the  view  over  the  slopes,  though  they  are  leveled  and  ter- 
raced, is  without  the  beauty  and  variety  the  Moors  would  have 
given  it,  had  they-  had  an  opportunity  to  introduce  their  at- 
tractive if  fantastic  arts. 

In  the  Royal  Armory  I  saw  as  large  a  collection  as  there 
is  in  Europe — the  armor  and  arms  of  all  the  actual  and  fabu- 
lous heroes  and  kings  of  Spain,  including  the  Ferdinands, 
Philips,  Charleses,  the  Cid,  Pelayo,  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  and 
almost  every  warrior  of  fame  in  ancient  or  modern  times. 
Hannibal's,  Augustus's,  and  Julius  Csesar's  helmets  are  pre- 
served; but  their  authenticity  I  questioned,  because  they 
betray  evidence  of  having  been  made  centuries  after  those  dis- 
turbers of  the  public  peace  had  knocked  at  the  door  of  Olym- 
pus and  been  admitted  by  Jupiter  himself. 

A  singular  institution  for  Madrid  is  the  Magdalen  Asylum, 
where  I  spent  several  hours.  No  woman  is  admitted  unless 
indubitable  evidence  of  her  incontinence  be  given ;  and  those 
admitted  are  never  released,  except  to  marry  or  become  nuns. 
Connected  with  the  asylum  is  a  house  of  restraint,  where 
women,  wedded  and  single,  are  sent  by  their  relatives  and  hus- 
bands who  consider  them  too  susceptible  for  security.  There 
are  no  such  houses  as  these  outside  of  the  Peninsula ;  but  per- 
sons unblest  with  faith  think  they  might  be  extended  to  other 
countries  with  advantage.  It  may  be  an  argument,  however, 
against  the  benefit  of  the  establishments,  that  women  placed 
there  are  said  to  be  so  indignant  at  the  suspicion  attaching  to 
them  that,  when  released,  they  endeavor  to  earn  the  meed  of 
then-  accusation.  Husbands  who  have  occasion  to  be  absent 
from  home  for  any  length  of  time  not  infrequently  put  their 
wives  under  the  protection  of  Las  Hecojidas,  and  take  them 
out  when  they  return.  This  custom  is  obsolescent,  like  the 
employment  of  bolts,  bars,  and  duennas.  Even  the  Spaniards 
have  begun  to  perceive  that  feminine  honor  must  be  guarded 
by  moral,  not  material  agencies,  and  that  vulgar  compulsion- 
augments  the  tendency  to  sin  by  adding  anger  to  temptation. 

The  city  is  situated  on  what  they  call  the  river  Manzanares, 
which  occasionally  indulges  in  the  freak  of  containing  water, 


APPEARANCE   OF  THE   CITY.  247 

though  it  grows  less  whimsical  in  this  regard  every  year.  I 
don't  know  of  what  possible  use  it  is,  unless  for  a  lavatory. 
It  is  frequently  dammed  up  (and  down,  I  might  add),  for  such 
purpose,  the  natural  volume  of  water  not  being  sufficient  even 
for  the  slight  cleansing  of  linen  that  is  here  deemed  desirable. 
I  have  often  laughed  at  the  Arno  ;  but  the  Manzanares  is  too 
pitiable  to  excite  merriment.  I  wonder  if  it  knows  it  is  a 
river.    It  is  certainly  the  smallest  thing  of  the  kind  I  have  met. 

The  old  part  of  the  town  is  dreary,  ill-paved,  not  over-clean, 
with  narrow  and  crooked  streets ;  but  the  new  part  is  tolerably 
well  built,  has  straight  streets,  paved  with  flint,  and  sidewalks, 
to  which  the  other  quarter  is  wholly  a  stranger.  Madrid  used 
to  abound  in  convents  that  closely  resembled  prisons ;  but  the 
number  is  now  comparatively  small,  so  that  the  streets  are  not 
quite  as  gloomy  as  they  were.  There  are  one  hundred  and 
fifty  churches ;  but  they  look  a  good  deal  alike ;  are  usually 
dark,  and  seem  as  if  the  Duke  of  Alva,  Torquemada,  and  other 
monsters,  might  be  lurking  in  the  shadows,  deploring  the  spirit 
of  progress  and  the  spread  of  humanity.  The  churches  have 
some  good  pictures,  but  they  are  either  so  faded,  or  in  such 
unfavorable  positions,  that  it  is  impossible  to  study  them. 

The  Museo  has  an  excellent  collection  of  pictures,  two 
thousand  in  number,  and  among  them  some  of  Murillo  and 
Velasquez's  best.  Murillo's  famous  "  Immaculate  Conception  " 
— there  is  another  in  the  Louvre  at  Paris — is  in  the  Museo,  and 
is  really  beautiful,  though  I  cannot  agree  with  those  who  declare 
it  the  greatest  painting  in  the  world.  The  face  of  the  Virgin 
is  far  more  madonna-like  than  is  that  of  most  of  Itaffaelle's 
pictures.  It  is  full  of  meaning,  and  will  bear  close  study.  The 
inner  life  of  hope,  resignation,  struggle,  suffering,  love,  adora- 
tion, is  depicted  in  the  upturned  eyes  and  entire  air  of  the 
figure.  There  is  significant  expression  in  the  hands,  clasped 
over  the  bosom.  They  seem  to  be  praying  in  gratitude  for  the 
Divine  office  that  has  been  imposed  upon  the  spirit  they  enfold. 
It  is  difficult  for  a  Pagan  to  sympathize  with  the  transports  of 
the  old  theology ;  but  it  is  easy  to  see  in  the  "  Immaculate 
Conception  "  what  Murillo  wished  to  convey.    B 


248  THE  MUSEO   PICTURES. 

Velasquez  is  seen  to  advantage  there,  particularly  in  some 
of  his  portraits.  They  are  not  so  smooth,  so  finished,  so  spir- 
itual, as  Vandyke's ;  but  they  have  more  character,  more  va- 
riety, more  originality.  The  Raffaelles,  Tintorettos,  Titians, 
and  Rubenses  are  quite  inferior  to  those  in  Rome,  Florence, 
Paris,  or  even  Vienna.  Herrera  and  Ribera  have  numerous 
paintings  in  the  collection,  but  they  are  mostly  of  the  saint  and 
martyrdom  sort,  of  which  I  am  heartily  sick.  I  am  very  sorry 
for  the  men  who  voluntarily  starved  themselves,  and  who  were 
tortured  for  their  faith,  but  I  have  no  desire  to  have  their  ago- 
nies perpetually  paraded  before  my  eyes.  They  answer  for 
breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper,  but  for  an  occasional  luncheon  I 
should  prefer  a  man  who  is  not  supplicating  Heaven  over 
skulls  for  the  pardon  of  sins  he  never  could  have  had  stamina 
enough  to  commit.  And  I  might  be  induced  to  regard  favor- 
ably a  woman  broiling  over  a  very  slow  fire  for  a  celestial  ban- 
quet. 

A  miraculous  image  of  the  Virgin  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
Church  of  the  Atocha.  This  image,  which  is  everything  but 
handsome  or  artistic,  has  accomplished  the  most  extraordinary 
things,  according  to  ecclesiastical  accounts.  Were  I  to  enu- 
merate half  of  them,  I  fear  I  should  be  accused  of  levity,  if 
not  of  attempting  to  burlesque  what  many  regard  as  sacred. 
The  Virgin  has  made  heretics  believe  in  the  true  religion, 
whatever  that  one  may  be ;  has  healed  incurable  diseases ;  has 
rendered  barren  women  the  mothers  of  large  families ;  has  built 
churches  where  there  was  no  money  ;  has  snatched  souls  from 
purgatory  ;  has  struck  blasphemous  sinners  dumb  ;  has  revealed 
the  sun  at  midnight ;  in  a  word,  has  subverted  the  laws  of  Na- 
ture, and  caused  miracles  to  be  commonplace.  She  or  it — I 
can't  tell  which  is  the  proper  gender — has  profited  by  her  or 
its  powers.  Hundreds  of  valuable  gifts  have  been  presented 
to  the  image,  and  they  are  exhibited  for  a  fee  by  the  pious 
sacristan. 

Before  I  ever  set  foot  in  Spain  I  knew  what  a  gloomy  and 
unsatisfactory  pile  the  Escorial  is.  But  being  there  it  became 
my  duty  as  a  traveller  to  visit  the  monastic  palace,  lest  those 


THE  ESCORIAL.  249 

who  had  been  before  me  should  say,  when  I  returned :  "  Not 
see  the  Escorial  ?  Alas,  my  friend,  you  have  crossed  the  Pyr- 
enees in  vain ! " 

Twenty  miles  from  the  capital  by  rail,  the  desolate  charac- 
ter of  the  country  through  which  I  passed  was  a  proper  pre- 
lude for  the  inspection  of  the  great  granite  tomb  which  a 
bigoted  and  cruel  monarch  reared  to  his  own  vanity  and  super- 
stition. When  I  saw  the  sombre  edifice  frowning  in  the  dis- 
tance above  the  savage  outline  of  the  Guadarama,  I  thought — 
How  fitting  it  is  to  be  the  home  and  grave  of  Philip  II. ! 
The  eighth  wonder  of  the  world,  as  it  is  called,  seems  like  a 
huge  family  vault,  and  casts  cold  shadows  even  amidst  the 
fierce  sun-glare  of  Castile.  Philip's  ostensible  object  in  its 
erection  was,  as  we  know,  to  execute  the  will  of  his  father  in 
constructing  a  royal  burial-place,  and  also  to  fulfil  a  vow  made 
to  San  Lorenzo,  at  St.  Quentin,  when  the  tide  of  battle  had 
set  against  him.  Lorenzo,  according  to  theologic  accounts,  was 
used  by  Valentianus  like  a  mutton-chop,  and  to  this  circum- 
stance we  owe  the  Escorial's  gridiron  shape,  in  commemoration 
of  the  manner  of  the  saintly  martyrdom.  My  knowledge  of 
history  freshened  as  I  wandered  through  the  vast  courts.  I 
thought  how  the  saturnine  Philip  went  there  after  the  battle  of 
St.  Quentin,  for  which,  by  the  bye,  he  was  indebted  to  Philibert 
of  Savoy,  and  lived  fourteen  years,  the  cowl  over  his  crown, 
dying  on  the  very  day  the  palace  was  finished,  in  such  remorse 
and  agony  as  no  one  who  has  read  the  pages  of  Siguenza 
can  fail  to  remember.  When  I  recall  the  love  Philip  had 
for  the  Escorial,  I  can  understand  how  gloomy  must  have 
been  his  temperament,  without  looking  into  the  library  for  the 
Titian  portrait,  with  its  stony  eyes  and  deathlike  coldness  of 
face.  He  loved  the  sacerdotal  structure  because  he  built  it, 
because  its  dismalness  sympathized  with  his,  because  he  could 
boast  that  from  its  solitude  he  could,  with  a  bit  of  paper,  rule  the 
world.  A  rectangular  parallelogram,  seven  hundred  feet  long, 
and  five  hundred  and  sixty-four  feet  broad,  composed  of  gray 
granite,  with  blue  slates  and  leaden  roofs,  it  reminds  me,  in 
spite  of  its  size,  simplicity,  and  situation,  of  a  modern-day 


250  A    COLLECTION  OF  RELICS. 

barracks  or  manufactory  of  gigantic  proportions.  Two  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level,  it  is  part  of  the 
mountain  on  which  it  stands,  and  seems  a  bulwark  against  the 
storms  and  snows  of  the  Sierras,  a  species  of  Hospice  of  St. 
Bernard  on  a  colossal  scale.  The  architecture  is  mixed,  but 
the  Doric  style  prevails.  The  various  courts  represent  the  in- 
terstices of  the  gridiron,  the  royal  residence  the  handle,  and 
the  four  towers  at  each  corner  the  legs  of  the  implement  re- 
versed. The  custodians  are  very  voluble  as  to  particulars. 
They  told  me  it  has  eleven  thousand  windows — is  the  number 
so  large  because  they  are  so  small  and  out  of  proportion  ? — 
covers  four  hundred  thousand  square  feet,  has  twelve  cloisters, 
sixteen  courts,  eighty  staircases,  sixty-five  fountains,  and  three 
thousand  five  hundred  feet  of  painting  in  fresco.  Until  within 
the  last  twenty-five  years  it  was  allowed  to  decay.  Since  then  it 
has  been  partially  repaired,  though  it  bears  numerous  weather- 
beaten  traces  on  every  side. 

The  palace  and  convent  are  now  used  for  educational  pur- 
poses, about  three  hundred  students  being  instructed  there  for 
priestly  and  profane  pursuits.  The  small  chamber  near  the 
oratory  is  pointed  out  as  the  place  where  the  crowned  zealot 
breathed  his  last,  and  not  far  from  the  high  altar  is  the  museum 
of  superstition  in  which  he  collected  thousands  of  relics  of 
saints  and  martyrs.  Never  was  there  a  greater  bigot  than 
Philip.  In  what  he  conceived  to  be  sacred  anatomy  he  was 
without  an  equal,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  relicario.  The 
presentation  of  a  so-called  martyr's  toe  or  a  saint's  tooth  gave 
him  more  pleasure  than  a  victory ;  for  he  believed  that  either 
of  those  would  go  far  toward  the  purchase  of  absolution  for  his 
blood-stained  soul.  After  La  Houssaye  pillaged  the  Escorial 
he  mixed  up  the  relics  in  a  manner  that  would  have  driven 
Philip  to  distraction  if  he  had  been  alive ;  for  since  then  it 
has  been  quite  impossible  to  determine  to  whom  the  confused 
fragments  of  anatomy  belong.  I  remember  leaning  in  the 
relicario  against  what  I  supposed  to  be  a  fragment  of  stone ; 
but  discovered,  from  the  horror  I  excited  in  the  custodian, 
who  crossed  himself  and  uttered  a  confusion  of  prayers  and 


THE  ROYAL   TOMB.  251 

invocations,  that  I  had  done  something  terrible.  He  explained 
to  me  that  what  I  had  taken  for  a  stone  was  the  thigh-bone  of 
Saint  Dominic  or  the  thorax  of  Saint  Ignatius — I  am  very- 
deficient  in  knowledge  of  hagiographa — and  that  it  was  one 
of  the  most  cherished  relics  of  Philip,  as  he  phrased  it,  of 
blessed  memory.  He  appeared  to  be  as  much  shocked  as 
astounded  when  I  failed  to  be  impressed  with  the  enormity  of 
my  offence,  muttered  something  about  the  total  depravity  of 
heretics,  and  perhaps  secretly  sighed  for  the  restoration  of  the 
Inquisition. 

Before  I  descended  to  the  Pantheon — the  royal  tomb — I 
lighted  a  torch  that  was  handed  me,  and  with  difficulty  moved 
over  the  slippery  marble  steps.  The  great  family  vault  is 
under  the  high  altar,  so  that  the  priest  who  elevates  the  Host 
in  the  Church  may  confer  the  benefit  of  the  sacred  act  upon 
the  dead  below.  Philip  II.,  who  really  had  taste  in  architec- 
ture, made  the  vault  plain;  but  his  son  and  grandson,  on 
assuming  the  crown,  rendered  it  tawdry  with  gilding  and 
variegated  marbles,  and  destroyed  the  impressive  effect  it 
originally  had.  The  Pantheon  is  an  octagon,  about  forty  feet 
in  diameter,  and  about  the  same  height,  of  dark  marble  and 
gilt  bronze.  On  the  eight  sides  are  twenty-six  black  marble 
sarcophagi,  exactly  alike,  perhaps  to  show  the  equality  of  death 
and  the  peership  of  sovereigns.  On  the  right  are  the  monarchs 
of  the  past,  and  on  the  left  are  their  consorts — etiquette  sur- 
vives the  grave  in  Spain — with  the  names  of  the  deceased  on 
each  sarcophagus.  Yacant  niches  yawn  expectant  for  the 
future  kings  and  queens,  whose  line  was  seriously  interrupted 
by  the  revolution.  The  urn  Isabella  would  have  occupied  was 
shown  to  me.  If  she  had  sought  to  assert  her  right  it  would 
now  be  filled,  I  opine;  and  it  is  quite  possible  she  would 
prefer  quiet  burial  some  years  hence  in  Montmartre  or  Pere  la 
Chaise  to  the  earlier  honors  of  sepulture  there.  Now  that 
Amadeus  is  King,  and  is  likely  to  be  assassinated  some  time, 
a  niche  should  be  prepared  for  him.  He  is  young,  and  seems 
well  disposed ;  but  he  was  unwise  when  he  accepted  the  empty 
crown  of  Spain. 


252  A    GLOOMY  PICTURE. 

At  the  first  break  (descanso)  in  the  staircase  I  was  conduct- 
ed into  another  burial-place,  where  more  members  of  the  royal 
family — Isabella  of  Valois,  Don  Juan  of  Aussria,  and  Don 
Carlos  among  them — sleep  their  dreamless  sleep.  Everybody 
who  has  read  Schiller's  tragedy  sympathizes  with  the  unfortu- 
nate son  of  Philip,  and  is  inclined  to  believe  the  poetic  is  the 
historic  account.  But  all  the  educated  persons  in  Madrid  with 
whom  I  conversed  on  the  subject  declare  that  the  prince's 
hatred  of  his  father,  who  ordered  his  arrest  in  1568,  arose  from 
fits  of  temper,  caused  by  a  fall  from  his  horse  six  years  before, 
which  impaired  both  his  mind  and  body.  They  referred  me 
to  Raumur  for  proof  that  he  never  loved  his  step-mother,  and 
that  both  he  and  she  died  natural  deaths. 

In  the  cloisters  and  court-yards — unpleasant,  and  the  walls 
badly  painted — I  saw  nothing  to  detain  me,  and  I  was  glad  to 
hurry  to  the  handle  of  the  gridiron  (el  mango  de  la  parrilla), 
which  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  royal  residence.  The  rooms  of 
state  are  poorly  furnished,  and  so  uninviting  that  I  do  not 
wonder  the  monarchs,  after  spending  a  few  weeks  there,  hast- 
ened to  the  fair  but  artificial  gardens  of  San  Idlefonso.  The 
kings,  queens,  and  courtiers  were  always  accessible  to  the 
monks,  and  practiced  outward  austerities,  while  their  private 
lives  were  licentious  and  shameless.  They  were  theologic 
epicures,  sinning  for  the  pleasure  of  confessing,  and  breaking 
the  Commandments  for  the  honor  of  absolution.  The  rooms 
Don  Carlos  occupied  awoke  new  pity  for  him ;  but  the  indig- 
nation I  felt  against  his  father  was  softened  when  I  stood  in 
the  humble  apartment  where  Philip  was  carried,  in  his  mental 
and  physical  agony,  that  he  might  gaze  upon  the  altar  he  had 
dishonored,  and  profane  with  bigot  lips  the  crucifix  Charles  V. 
had  kissed  with  expiring  breath. 

With  all  the  shadows  and  suggestions  of  the  Escorial 
around  me,  I  thought,  This  is  indeed  like  Spain.  So  proud  in 
feeling,  so  poor  in  performance ;  so  fearful  of  innovations,  so 
overborne  by  the  ancient ;  she  stands  among  nations  as  this 
monkish  palace,  in  the  midst  of  sun-glare  and  desolation,  a 
dark  memory  of  the  past  and  an  awful  warning  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

BTJLL-FIGHTS. 

Y  no  means  the  least  disadvantage  of  travel  is, 
that  you  feel  bound  to  see  and  do  things  as  a 
traveller,  which,  as  a  rational  animal,  you  are 
indifferent  to,  or,  perhaps,  naturally  shrink 
No  one  can  have  a  greater  temperamental 
repulsion  than  myself  from  scenes  of  pain  or  cruelty, 
unless  I  can  relieve  or  repress  them.     And  yet,  from  a 
purely  intellectual  curiosity,  or  from  a  philosophic  spirit, 
I  might  witness  or  investigate  what  in  itself  excited 
abhorrence  or  disgust. 

As  Spain  is  always  associated  with  bull-fights,  you  feel  that 
you  have  not  performed  your  duty  as  a  traveller,  if  you  go 
away  without  seeing  what  they  regard  there  as  the  great  na- 
tional sport.  The  bull-fight  I  attended  in  September  was  the 
first  that  had  been  given  for  some  time.  I  wish  it  might  be  the 
last.  I  obtained  a  ticket  through  the  porter  at  the  hotel,  which 
is  usually  the  best  plan,  as  the  speculators  buy  them  in  packets 
of  forty  or  fifty,  some  days  before  the  exhibition,  and  sell  them 
at  exorbitant  rates. 

All  the  fights,  I  believe,  take  place  in  the  bull-ring,  as  it  is 
called,  situated  in  a  convenient  locality,  and  are,  or  rather  have 
been,  as  popular  with  the  higher  as  the  lower  classes.  The 
ring  is  very  much  like  our  circuses,  and  is,  no  doubt,  mod- 
elled after  the  ancient  amphitheatres,  the  circle  in  the  middle 
being  filled  with  sawdust,  and  divided  from  the  spectators  by 
a  barrier  four  or  five  feet  high.  The  seats  for  the  audience,  or 
the  vidience  more  properly,  are  one  above  the  other,  and  are 


254  .  THE  AUDIENCE. 

more  or  less  comfortable,  according  to  the  price  paid  for  admis- 
sion. Some  parts  of  the  amphitheatre  are  elaborately  but 
tawdrily  fitted  up  for  the  nobility  and  officials — the  members 
of  the  government  having  family  boxes.  The  royal  box,  long 
graced  by  Isabella's  portly  person,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say, 
was  without  representation.  The  royal  arms  had  been  removed, 
and  the  place  was  vacant. 

I  went  early  to  the  ring,  for  I  wished  to  see  the  spectators 
assemble.  They  began  to  come  nearly  two  hours  before  the 
time  named  for  the  commencement  of  the  performance.  These 
were  the  common  people,  who  had  not  engaged  seats,  and  were 
anxious  to  get  as  good  places  as  possible.  The  lower  classes 
are  the  most  enthusiastic  lovers  of  the  sport,  and,  not  having 
had  an  opportunity  to  witness  it  for  some  weeks,  were  unusu- 
ally eager.  A  number  of  the  peasantry  were  present,  and  wore 
the  picturesque  costumes  of  the  provinces.  The  men,  for  the 
most  part,  hard-featured  and  brutal-looking,  impressed  me  as 
fellows  that  might  be  employed  as  assassins  on  moderate  terms. 
The  women  were  gayly  tricked  out  with  ribbons,  but -did  not 
appear  very  neat  or  attractive,  though  they  had  good  eyes  and 
abundant  hair,  which  was  entirely  their  own.  There  was  a  phy- 
sical uneasiness  in  their  motion,  and  a  frequent  application  of 
their  brown  hands  to  different  parts  of  their  wardrobe,  that  in- 
dicated they  were  not  at  all  exempt  from  the  national  insect. 
Their  mode  of  allaying  the  corporeal  visitation  and  of  captur- 
ing the  entomological  offenders  was  energetic,  and  no  doubt 
natural,  but  it  was  hardly  graceful  or  poetic.  I  supposed  at 
first  they  had  come  to  see  the  fight,  but  I  soon  concluded  their 
object  was  to  catch  fleas.  The  latter,  however,  I  have  since 
learned  is  only  a  preamble  to  the  principal  pleasure — the  recre- 
ation of  the  country.  When  Spanish  women  have  nothing 
else  to  do,  they  fall  in  love  or  hunt  fleas.  When  they  have 
any  occupation,  which  is  seldom,  they  do  not  allow  their  hearts 
or  their  insects  to  trouble  them. 

As  the  hour  for  the  sport  drew  nigh,  the  seats  rapidly  filled 
with  well-dressed  women  and  their  cavaliers.  The  day  was 
very  warm  but  cloudy,  and  not  so  oppressive  as  Madrid  usually 


THE   COMBATANTS.  255 

is  at  that  season  of  the  year.  Most  of  the  better  class  of 
women  wore  dark  colors,  with  long  black  veils  on  their  heads, 
falling  over  their  full  and  ample  shoulders,  but  not  at  all  con- 
cealing their  generous  busts.  Some  of  them  were  so  bounteous 
in  display  that  they  reminded  me  of  the  questionable  portraits 
of  Agnes  Sorel,  Gabrielle  d'Estree,  Pompadour,  Du  Barry, 
and  many  other  historic  demi-mundanes  for  sale  at  the  shops 
of  the  Palais  Royal  in  Paris. 

I  was  told  the  audience  was  not  very  fashionable,  as  many 
persons  of  wealth  and  distinction  were  still  out  of  town.  Judg- 
ing from  the  style  of  dress,  it  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  I  had  seen  in  Europe.  If  it  had  been  much  more 
fashionable,  I  should  have  trembled  for  the  consequences  and 
the  trade  of  mantua-makers. 

The  ring  will  hold  about  ten  thousand  people,  and  when 
the  signal  was  given  for  the  fight  to  begin,  all  the  seats  were 
occupied.  All  the  chatting,  ogling,  flea-catching,  and  flirtation 
ceased  then  ;  every  eye  was  strained,  every  head  bent  forward, 
as  if  the  barbarous  spectacle  were  wholly  a  novelty.  The 
spectators  seemed  entirely  Spanish,  and  I  do  not  think  it  im- 
probable that  I  was  the  only  person  present  who  had  never 
witnessed  a  similar  exhibition. 

First,  two  men  in  velvet  jackets  and  short  breeches,  armed 
with  swords,  appeared  in  the  arena,  followed  by  a  couple  of 
cavaliers  on  horseback.  The  two  former  made  numerous  grim- 
aces and  absurd  tableaux,  and  the  latter  rode  around  the  ring 
several  times.  Then  the  footmen  opened  a  gate  to  the  entrance 
for  the  bulls.  If  I  had  not  known  something  of  the  manner  of 
conducting  the  national  sport,  I  should  have  expected  to  see 
an  infuriated  bull  rush  out  pawing  and  bellowing,  and  bent  on 
goring  to  death  the  first  living  thing  it  could  reach.  A  minute 
elapsed,  and  no  bull  made  its  appearance.  Then  one  of  the 
footmen  strode  to  the  entrance,  waved  a  red  flag  he  had  in  his 
hand,  and  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  half  threat  and  half  curse.  No 
bull.  Then  he  thrust  in  a  lance,  piercing  the  animal's  hide,  I 
suppose,  though  my  position  was  such  that  I  could  not  see  into 
the  gateway.     I  heard  a  low  mutter,  but  still  there  was  no  bull 


256  AN  AMIABLE  BEAST. 

visible.  The  audience  was  impatient,  and  expressed  its  dis- 
approbation of  the  delay  in  hisses  and  applause.  In  another 
minute  the  bull  appeared,  having,  I  judge,  been  forced  out 
from  behind. 

The  animal,  though  he  was  black,  sinewy,  and  well-formed, 
was  not  a  whit  savage.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  in  a  most 
amiable  mood,  considering  the  provocation  he  had  received. 
He  seemed  tired  and  sleepy,  and  would  have  lain  down  if  he 
had  been  permitted  to  do  so.  The  footmen  immediately  began 
to  worry  him.  They  waved  their  flags ;  they  struck  him  with 
their  swords ;  they  yelled  at  him.  He  looked  drowsily  at  them, 
and  forgave  their  insults.  Then  they  got  some  darts  with  fire- 
crackers attached,  and,  lighting  them,  hurled  them  into  the 
poor  beast's  side.  The  bull  moaned ;  was  excessively  fright- 
ened, and  strove  to  get  out ;  but  could  not.  His  terror  sup- 
pressed all  possibility  of  rage,  and,  after  torturing  him  for  four 
or  five  minutes  longer,  and,  the  audience  beginning  to  cry  for 
another  animal,  the  men  in  the  arena  let  the  beast  out.  He 
was  evidently  delighted  to  escape,  and  did  not  heed  the  jeers 
which  followed  his  inglorious  exit. 

A  second  bull  was  admitted.  He  had  no  more  inclination 
to  fighting  than  his  predecessor.  Indeed,  the  instincts  of  the 
animals  tell  them  they  have  no  chance  for  their  lives;  that 
they  are  merely  to  be  butchered  after  being  overborne  by  supe- 
rior strength.  The  new  beast  was,  however,  of  higher  mettle. 
His  eye  flashed  when  the  flag  fluttered  before  it,  and  when  the 
darts  were  thrust  into  him,  and  the  crackers  exploded,  he 
pawed  the  ground  and  bellowed  with  wrath.  He  seemed  too 
much  enraged  at  first  to  determine  his  course,  but  in  a  few 
seconds  he  dashed  at  one  of  the  footmen,  and  would  have  torn 
him  open  with  his  horns  if  the  fellow  had  not  slipped  aside. 
The  bull  was  again  upon  him.  He  could  not  get  out  of  the 
way,  so  he  ran  swiftly  and  leaped  over  the  barrier  in  the  most 
agile  manner. 

The  spectators  were  delighted.  They  roared  with  enthu- 
siasm, for  they  now  had  what  they  had  been  waiting  for.  My 
sympathies  were,  I  confess,  entirely  with  the  bull.     He  was 


SANGUINARY  SPECTACLE.  257 

not  half  as  much  of  a  brute  as  were  his  persecutors.  I  did  not 
want  to  see  any  one  hurt ;  but  if  the  poor  beast  could  have 
escaped  by  goring  a  man  or  two  I  should  have  been  quite  will- 
ing. The  bull  was  acting  on  the  defensive:  the  men  were 
voluntarily  his  tormentors. 

As  the  animal  ran  after  Pedro  (I  will  call  him  such  for  dis- 
tinction), his  companion,  Alfonso,  thrust  a  sword  into  the  ani- 
mal's thigh,  and  one  of  the  horsemen,  Carlos,  rode  up,  and 
hurled  a  lance  into  his  neck. 

The  horses  used  in  the  arena  are  not  spirited  nor  blooded. 
They  are  generally  common  beasts  that  are  designed  to  be 
slaughtered,  and  consequently  economy  prompts  the  employ- 
ment of  an  inferior  breed. 

The  bull,  twice  wounded  and  bleeding  freely,  turned  upon 
Carlos,  who  might  easily  have  avoided  the  onset.  But  it  was 
part  of  the  performance  to  have  the  wretched  steed  killed.  As 
the  bull  darted  forward,  with  head  bent,  Carlos  made  his  horse 
rear,  giving  a  fair  mark  to  the  advancing  horns.  They  entered 
the  heart  of  the  poor  animal.  The  horse  screamed  like  a  hu- 
man being ;  the  entrails — sickening  sight ! — gushed  out ;  the 
rider  leaped  to  the  ground  as  the  horse  fell  and  died  in  the 
ring. 

In  another  moment  the  second  footman,  Garcia,  came  sud- 
denly upon  the  bull,  growing  too  fierce  for  convenience  or 
comfort,  and  struck  his  hind  leg  with  a  sword  so  heavily  that 
fracture  must  have  followed.  The  beast's  eyes  were  red  with 
blood  and  rage.  He  was  resolved  to  fight  to  the  last.  He 
dashed  toward  Garcia,  but  was  too  lame  for  swift  motion. 
Just  then  he  received  another  terrible  wound  from  a  lance  in 
the  rear,  which  checked  his  course. 

The  poor  beast  paused  for  some  seconds ;  looked  wildly, 
yet  pitiably,  about,  as  if  he  were  appealing  to  the  spectators 
for  fair  play.  He  had  been  bleeding  profusely,  and  was  grow- 
ing weaker  every  minute.  Another  blow  of  the  sword  from 
behind  brought  him  to  his  knees,  and  before  he  could  rise,  a 
fifth  man  entered  the  arena,  with  a  long,  sharp  sword,  and, 
stealing  up  behind  the  bull,  thrust  the  blade  into  his  head  be- 
17 


258  SICKENING   SIGHT. 

tween  the  horns.  The  beast's  eyes  glazed,  a  convulsive  quiver 
ran  through  his  'panting  frame,  and,  with  a  low  moan,  he  ex- 
pired, a  few  feet  from  where  lay  the  disembowelled  horse. 

Again  applause  of  hands  and  voice  arose.  I  looked  through 
my  lorgnette  to  see  if  I  could  not  discover  horror  or  disgust 
depicted  in  some  face — at  least  a  woman's.  Nothing  of  the 
kind  was  visible.  Everybody  seemed  flushed  with  delight,  as 
refined  persons  are  when  the  curtain  has  fallen  upon  the  brilliant 
finale  of  a  favorite  opera. 

I  wanted  to  get  out ;  but  the  crowd  was  so  great  where  I 
sat,  that  I  could  not  succeed.  While  I  was  waiting  my  oppor- 
tunity, a  third  bull  was  introduced.  The  matadores  had  no 
trouble  with  him.  They  thrust  darts  into  his  side;  hacked 
him ;  hurled  lances  into  him  right  and  left ;  pressed  him  so 
closely  that  he  had  no  prospect  for  self-defence.  He  bellowed 
somewhat,  and  pawed  the  sawdust;  but  he  had  intelligence 
enough  to  know  he  was  doomed,  and  that  he  might  as  well  die 
with  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  He  received  at  least  fifty 
wounds  in  fifteen  minutes.  He  was  obliged  to  gore  one  of  the 
horses,  for  the  horse  was  literally  thrown  upon  his  horns ;  but 
he  looked  relieved  when  the  chief  butcher  appeared  and  pierced 
his  brain  with  the  long  sword. 

The  brutal  scene  was  not  yet  ended,  but  I  resolved  to  stay 
no  longer.  I  felt  demoralized,  self-disgusted,  sick  at  heart.  I 
squeezed  my  way  out,  and,  as  I  moved  along,  I  thought  I  heard 
what  was  not  intended  for  my  ear :  "  That  is  an  American. 
He  is  sick ;  he  is  sentimental.     His  nation  is  squeamish." 

As  I  walked  slowly  through  the  throng,  I  looked  into  the 
faces  of  several  women  I  had  thought  handsome  an  hour  be- 
fore. Their  eyes  were  dark ;  their  hair  was  luxuriant ;  their 
lips  were  red ;  their  forms  were  graceful — or  they  had  ap- 
peared so  before  the  contest  in  the  arena. 

Now  they  had  no  element  of  feminineness  or  loveliness. 
They  seemed  hard,  heartless  savages.  Their  eyes  had  murder 
in  them.  On  their  red  lips  stood  deadly  poison.  What  woman 
can  be  womanly  who  can  witness  cruelty  unmoved  \ 


CHAPTEE    XXXII. 

ANDALUSIA. 

EVILLE  and  the  region  round  about  certainly 
seem  like  Spain;    not  exactly  the  Spain  we 
associate  with  the  wonderful  performances  of 
the  Cid,  the  dramas  of  Calderon,  or  the  his- 
tory of  the  struggle  with  the  Moors,  but  the 
real  Spain,  the  country  of  to-day,  the   land  where 
jjKj^     tradition  and  romance  still  linger,    like   a   fantastic 
cloud  which  we  see  rapidly  changing  and  slipping 
away. 
No  one  gets  a  correct  idea  of  Spain  without  going  into 
Andalusia.     Those  who  visit  only  Madrid,  and  return  north, 
fail  of  the  first  purpose  of  travel — acquaintance  with  the  char- 
acteristic features  of  foreign  countries. 

Toledo  first  impresses  you  as  belonging  to  the  past,  with 
which  we  can  not  avoid  associating  this  twilight  land  of  poetry 
and  superstition.  It  once  had  two  hundred  thousand  people, 
and  now  it  contains  little  over  fifteen  thousand.  Picturesque- 
ly situated  on  a  hill,  at  whose  base  the  Tagus  flows,  its  nar- 
row streets,  its  vast  Alcazar,  grand  Cathedral  and  quaint  old 
buildings,  speak  to  you  with  the  voice  of  history.  When  I 
saw  aged  persons  asleep  in  the  shade  of  a  mouldy  wall,  they 
looked  so  wrinkled  and  mummy-like,  that  I  fancied  they 
might  have  been  inhabitants  of  Toledo  in  its  palmy  days. 

As  you  move  southward  you  imagine  you  are  in  a  tropical 
climate,  so  rich  and  abundant  is  the  vegetation  on  every  hand. 
The  vine  covers  whole  villages  and  hillsides ;  the  olive,  fig, 
lime,  almond,  orange,  and  lemon    trees  grow  in  profusion, 


260  TRUE  POETRY  AND  ROMANCE. 

t 

while  the  burning  sun,  with  a  deeply  yellow  glare,  ripens  all 
nature  into  being.  The  sun-effects  are  very  fine  artistically, 
particularly  when  they  are  visible  from  the  snow-crowned 
Sierra  Guadarrama,  Morena  and  Nevada  mountains ;  but  they 
are  not  pleasant  to  me  personally.  I  admire  as  an  artist ;  I 
suffer  as  a  man.  The  atmosphere  is  very  dry  there,  and  walk- 
ing and  driving  about  as  professional  sight-seers  are  in  duty 
bound,  the  heat  in  September  and  October  is  extremely  op- 
pressive. I  have  grown  accustomed  to  all  climates ;  but  when 
I  am  making  meteorological  arrangements  for  my  private 
gratification,  I  shall  not  select  the  temperature  of  Andalusia  in 
those  months. 

Southern  Spain  is  very  much  what  Italy  was  five-and- 
twenty  years  ago,  before  the  railways  spoiled  it,  as  the  roman- 
ticists say. 

"What  a  shallow  thing  it  is,  by  the  bye,  to  talk  about  poetry 
and  romance  as  belonging  exclusively  to  the  past,  and  prate 
about  the  practicality  and  prose  of  the  present !  We  no  longer 
write  or  read  such  supernaturally  tedious  novels  as  Madame 
de  Scuderi  used  to  be  guilty  of.  "We  no  longer  break  lances 
in  defense  of  women  who  were  without  modesty  and  without 
brains.  "We  no  longer  let  single  combats  decide  great  issues 
in  the  front  of  opposing  armies.  "We  no  longer  babble  fustian 
concerning  the  envy  of  the  stars  at  the  beauty  of  our  mistress' 
eyes.  We  no  longer  talk  of  knightly  chivalry  to-day,  and  to- 
morrow sack  cities,  murder  children,  violate  women,  and  then 
with  pompous  mockery  thank  God  in  cathedrals  for  our 
shameful  victory. 

We  do  better  than  all  that.  We  send  food  to  the  starving. 
We  succor  the  distressed.  We  build  hospitals  and  school- 
houses,  and  orphan  asylums.  We  give  all  men — I  speak  for 
America — the  right  to  freedom  and  an  equal  chance  with  our- 
selves. We  keep  faith  with  men  and  reverence  women,  and 
have  more  genuine  chivalry  than  any  age  has  seen.  Our 
material,  progress  has  done  what  neither  morality  nor  phi- 
losophy could  do.  There  is  more  romance  and  poetry  in  the 
telegraph  and  railway  than  in  all  the  books  issued  since  the 


PREVALENT  SUPERSTITIONS.  261 

Bible  of  Faust.  There  is  more  knighthood  in  the  upright 
youth  who  labors  for  the  support  of  his  aged  parents,  than  in 
all  the  armored  coxcombs  that  ever  rode  in  the  tournament  to 
folly  and  to  death. 

So  much  for  episode.  To  return.  The  primitive  customs, 
the  ancient  mode  of  doing  things,  the  absence  of  modern  in- 
novation are  there  as  they  were  in  Italy  a  quarter  of  a  century 
since.  I  have  no  special  admiration  for  what  existed  before  I 
was  bom  (my  modesty  renders  me  unable  to  see  the  necessity 
of  creation  before  that  time),  but  the  difference  between  Spain 
and  other  continental  countries  is  fresh  and  agreeable.  There 
is  very  little  in  France  or  Italy  that  is  not  produced  elsewhere. 
Here  you  find  much  that  has  not  changed  for  two  hundred 
years.  The  railway  and  telegraph  will  soon  produce  homo- 
geneity, but  they  have  not  as  yet. 

There  is  a  certain  unfitness  in  those  representatives  of 
progress  in  this  ancient  kingdom.  The  electricity  bears  a 
message  over  the  roof  of  a  house  whose  inmates  live  precisely 
as  their  ancestors  did  in  the  days  of  Philip  II.  The  locomo- 
tive dashes  by  a  plantation  that  is  tilled  and  managed  as  it  was 
when  our  great-grandmothers  were  unborn. 

In  the  villages  and  agricultural  districts,  the  common 
people  regard  the  trains  and  electric  wires  with  a  wonder  and 
an  awe  that  approaches  superstition.  They  often  watch  the 
cars,  when  they  steam  by,  with  distended  eyes  and  open 
mouth ;  and  old  women  hold  their  children,  though  they  are 
far  from  the  track,  or  stand  before  them  protectingly,  as  if  the 
locomotive  were  a  demon  that  might  seize  and  carry  them 
away.  They  not  infrequently  imagine  that  sickness  in  the 
family,  failure  of  the  vine  or  olive,  the  death  of  cattle,  and 
other  accidents,  are  caused  by  the  modern  innovations.  They 
would  destroy  the  wires  and  tracks  but  for  fear.  They  are 
fortunately  superstitious  as  to  both.  They  believe  the  light- 
ning would  strike  them,  and  the  steam  would  scald  them, 
if  they  interfered  with  those  powerful  agencies,  thus  showing 
how  superstition  and  science  meet. 

The  capital  of  the  province  of  Seville,  pleasantly  situated 


262  ROYAL  PALACE. 

on  the  banks  of  the  Gaudalquivir,  contains  evidences  of  past 
wealth  and  greatness  that  bear  no  proportion  to  its  present 
commerce  and  population — very  little  over  150,000.  The 
Cathedral  is  one  of  the  finest  in  Europe,  and  is  noted,  with 
various  other  churches,  for  being  the  largest  in  the  world,  after 
St.  Peter's ;  St.  Paul's,  both  at  Home  and  London,  with  the 
Milan,  Cologne  and  Florence  Cathedrals,  claiming  the  same 
honor. 

I  like  the  architecture  for  its  peculiarity.  It  is  partly 
Roman  and  partly  Gothic ;  has  a  Moorish  spire  360  feet  high, 
consisting  of  three  towers  of  unique  workmanship,  with  gal- 
leries and  balconies.  The  church  has  an  organ  of  5,500  pipes, 
but  its  tone  is  much  inferior  to  that  of  any  one  of  the  organs 
at  Haarlem,  Freiburg  or  Bern. 

There  are  some  Murillos  on  the  walls,  no  doubt  excellent, 
but  they  cannot  be  seen  to  advantage  for  want  of  light.  They 
ought  to  be  called  the  greatest  paintings  extant,  from  the  fact 
that  no  one  can  determine  their  real  merit. 

A  good  view  can  be  had  of  the  surrounding  country  from 
the  spire,  surmounted  by  a  homely  weathercock  (giralda).  I 
ascended  it,  of  course,  and  as  I  bumped  my  head  very  severely, 
I  advise  others  to  do  likewise.  I  was  unable  to  keep  a  whole 
scalp  in  Europe,  in  consequence  of  my  fondness  for  mounting 
monuments,  steeples,  and  heights  of  every  description. 

The  Alcazar,  or  Royal  Palace,  is  a  colossal  edifice,  built,  it 
is  said,  of  stones  brought  from  the  ancient  temple  of  Hercules. 
I  presume  the  foundation  may  be  so  composed,  but  that  the 
entire  palace  is,  is  a  statement  I  could  not  swallow,  such  a  hot 
day  as  that  on  which  I  heard  it,  without  ice,  which  was  not  to 
be  had  in  the  whole  city.  The  Alcazar  is  a  mile  in  extent, 
and  flanked  by  large  square  towers.  Some  parts  of  it  are 
beautiful ;  others  commonplace  and  tawdry,  revealing  fine 
taste  and  barbaric  love  of  show. 

The  Archives  of  the  Indies,  in  the  Casa  Lonja,  is  very  rich 
in  original  documents.  In  addition  to  a  vast  number  relating 
to  the  voyage  of  Cortez,  Pizarro,  and  Magellan,  it  hae  several 
thousand  manuscripts  on  the  subject  of  the  discovery  of  Amer- 


HOLY   WEEK.  263 

ica.  I  should  have  liked  to  read  them;  but,  as  I  did  not 
expect  to  stay  five  hundred  years  in  the  country,  I  did  not 
undertake  it. 

The  principal  branch  of  industry  here  is  the  Government 
tobacco  factory,  an  immense  building,  erected  a  century  since, 
at  a  cost  of  $2,500,000,  and  giving  employment  to  over  five 
thousand  women,  the  worst-looking,  on  the  whole,  whom  I 
have  seen  in  Spain.  "Working  in  tobacco  is  extremely  unwhole- 
some, and  few  of  the  employes  either  seem,  or  are,  healthy. 
One  would  imagine  they  would  be  so  nauseated  with  their 
business,  that  they  would  hate  the  odor  of  tobacco.  But  it  is 
not  so,  I  understand.  Some  of  the  women,  particularly  the 
old  ones,  smoke,  snuff,  and  chew.  I  met  a  few  who,  I  think, 
must  have  been  of  this  elegant  and  fragrant  class.  They  were 
really  hideous  in  person  and  repulsive  in  habit.  I  could  not 
refrain  from  contrasting  them  with  the  fascinating  senoritas  we 
hear  of,  but  fail  to  see. 

Seville  has  a  large  University,  two  or  three  founderies, 
several  galleries  and  handsome  palaces  (the  modern  one  of  the 
Duke  de  Montpensier  is  very  fine),  a  handsome  exchange,  and 
many  interesting  edifices ;  but  the  place  is  dull  always,  and 
would  be  tedious  after  a  week's  stay. 

The  best  time  to  go  there  is  during  Holy  "Week  (Santa 
Semana),  which  is  in  the  middle  of  April.  The  festival  is 
observed  by  religious  processions,  displays  of  the  Virgin  in  all 
kinds  of  tawdry  costumes,  sacred  plays,  in  which  Christ,  the 
Almighty,  the  Apostles,  and  as  many  saints  as  can  be  accom- 
modated on  any  stage,  are  represented  with  the  most  pious 
fervor.  The  annual  fair  is  held  at  the  same  time,  and  the 
sacred  entertainment  concludes  with  several  first-class  bull- 
fights. 

The  taurine  contests  there  .are  the  most  exciting  in  Spain, 
for  the  reason  that  the  animals  are  fiercer  in  that  region  than 
they  are  anywhere  else.  They  are  carefully  bred,  and  have 
extraordinary  strength  and  endurance.  They  occasionally  kill 
a  matadore  or  two  in  the  arena — a  moral  spectacle  that  touches 
the  Spaniards  to  the  soul. 


264  A    PICTURE  FROM  NATURE. 

Having  witnessed,  by  mere  force  of  will,  the  bull-fight  in 
Madrid,  I  was  so  repelled  by  it  that  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever 
attend  another.  I  think  I  may  be  induced  to,  if  I  feel  sure 
the  poor  tormented  beast  will  interfere  for  all  time  with  the 
digestion  of  his  torturers  by  compelling  them  to  take  a  horn. 

What  an  analogy  there  is  in  Nature !  Spanish  bulls  kill 
men  in  exactly  the  same  manner  that  American  bar-keepers  do. 

This  city  once  had  a  very  large  commerce  with  South 
America,  being  the  entrepot  of  that  trade ;  but  it  is  all  over 
now ;  and  beyond  the  export  of  oranges,  Seville  does  next  to 
nothing.  There  is  considerable  wealth  here,  but  it  is  in  the 
hands  of  noblemen  or  retired  merchants. 

Across  the  river  is  the  suburb  of  Triana,  where  stood  that 
beautiful  and  benevolent  institution  known  as  the  Inquisition. 
It  was  long  ago  torn  down  ;  but  the  spot  is  still  pointed  out, 
and  many  strangers  visit  it.  When  I  looked  at  it,  and  remem- 
bered the  horrors  of  the  time,  I  wondered  any  one  can  be  so 
stupid  as  not  to  see  that  the  world  is  constantly  growing  better. 

At  Seville  I  saw  a  picture  out  of  the  window  of  my  hotel, 
that  Murillo  would  have  been  pleased  to  paint.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  street  was  an  old  beggar  woman  (she  looked 
as  old  as  if  she  had  been  reproduced  from  Balthazar  Dener's 
canvas)  who  had  sat  down  with  her  own  or  some  other  per- 
son's child  in  the  shade  cast  by  the  wall.  She  had  fallen 
asleep,  the  baby  had  crawled  upon  her  head  and  was  playing 
with  the  ragged  ends  of  her  white  hair.  While  so  engaged  a 
large  dog  made  the  infant  a  visit,  licked  the  little  hand,  and 
lay  down  coaxingly  at  the  beggar's  side.  The  infant  accepted 
the  invitation ;  left  the  hair  of  the  woman  and  seized  the  hair 
of  the  good-natured  brute.  The  tiny  thing  was  delighted ; 
chirped  and  laughed,  still  sitting  on  the  woman's  head.  The 
dog  was  delighted  too.  He  wagged  his  tail,  and  barked  in  a 
low,  loving  way.  Still  the  old  beggar  slept;  still  the  rain 
poured  down,  but  spared  the  group  under  the  wall.  Aged 
poverty,  careless  childhood,  affectionate  instinct  of  man  and 
brute,  the  three  met  there,  and  the  blue  of  heaven  bent  beauti- 
fully over  all. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

GRANADA. 

[  0  city  in  Europe  lias  more  romantic  and  literary 
associations  than  Granada,  the  old  Moorish 
capital,  and    the   seat   of  ancient    Saracenic 
splendors.     It  is  admirably  situated,  and  has 
beautiful  surroundings,  being  thirty-five  hundred  feet 
higher  than   Malaga,  with  the   snow-capped   Sierra 
Nevada  about  twenty  miles  distant.     Yegetation  is 
very  luxuriant  thereabout,  and  the  broad  plantations 
and   handsome   gardens   make    the   scenery   around 
Granada  a  panorama  of  beauty  and  an  ocular  delight. 

One  can  appreciate  an  almost  tropical  region  much  better 
when  the  sun  does  not  constantly  shoot  its  fierce  arrows  into 
boiling  blood.  In  November  the  temperature  is  pleasant,  and 
a  walk  or  drive  in  the  vicinity  in  the  morning  or  evening  is 
extremely  enjoyable.  The  moonlight  evenings  are  delicious, 
and  would  be  dangerous,  no  doubt,  to  sentimental  and  sus- 
ceptible young  couples,  if  they  were  left  alone  together.  Im- 
agine them  walking  arm  in  arm  under  the  shadows  cast  by  the 
Alhambra,  quoting  verses  and  repeating  all  the  romantic  stories 
that  have  been  told  of  the  wars  of  the  Spaniards  and  the 
Moors.  Even  if  arithmetic  and  logic  declared  they  ought  not 
to  unite  their  destinies,  I  fancy  all  the  figures  of  one  and  rea- 
son of  the  other  would  be  of  little  avail.  They  would  do  as 
thousands  have  done  before  them,  and  repent,  if  at  all,  too 
late.  However  much  they  repented,  place  them  in  the  same 
circumstances,  and  the  folly,  or  fault,  would  be  recommitted. 
I  have  wondered  sometimes  whether  that  which  we  under- 


266  ROMANTIC  IMPRUDENCE. 

stand  as  repentance  is  not  merely  an  inverted  regret  at  our 
inability  to  do  over  again  what  once  gave  us  so  much  pleasure. 
I  hope  this  is  not  true.  If  it  were,  it  would  interfere  with  our 
ethical  system,  and  ethics,  whatever  else  happens,  should  always 
be  preserved. 

"What  I  have  said  about  the  effect  of  Southern  Spain  and 
moonlight  was  prompted  by  a  story  told  me  in  Granada.  One 
summer  an  American  of  wealth — he  was  from  the  "West,  I  believe 
— went  to  Spain  with  his  only  daughter,  a  pretty  and  highly  ro- 
mantic, but  not  very  intellectual  or  sensible,  girl.  The  old  gen- 
tleman was  a  widower,  and  so  dotingly  fond  of  his  child  that  he 
had  thoroughly  spoiled  her.  In  Paris  he  engaged  a  courier  to 
travel  with  them,  who  was  a  moderately  good-looking,  shrewd, 
flippant  fellow.  He  went  with  them  through  Switzerland, 
Germany,  and  Northern  Italy,  and  paid  very  marked  attention 
to  the  young  lady.  He  was  with  her  so  much,  that  if  her  father 
had  been  a  man  of  observation,  or  inclined  to  interfere  in  any 
way  with  his  daughter's  whims,  he  would  have  seen  the  inti- 
«  macy  was  not  likely  to  come  to  good.  The  courier  told  Hattie 
that  he  was  of  noble  family ;  but  that  his  great-grandfather 
had  been  deprived  of  his  title  and  estates,  and  since  then  his 
immediate  ancestors  had  been  compelled  to  earn  their  own 
livelihood.  His  father  had  been  wealthy ;  he  himself  had  a 
fortune ;  he  was  in  a  responsible  position  under  the  Imperial 
Government ;  he  was  not  a  courier  really ;  he  had  seen  her  in 
the  court-yard  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  been  impressed  with 
her  beauty ;  in  a  word,  fell  in  love  with  her.  He  knew  the 
best  way  to  be  near  her  was  to  pretend  to  be  a  courier ;  so,  call- 
ing on  her  father,  he  made  an  engagement,  paterfamilias  being 
favorably  impressed  with  the  fellow  because  he  spoke  tolerable 
English.  The  courier  told  Hattie  that  he  was  a  great  favorite 
with  women ;  that  dozens  of  them,  including  marchionesses, 
countesses,  and  duchesses  had  become  desperately  enamored 
of  him,  and  he  even  intimated  that  the  Empress  Eugenie  had 
shown  a  weakness  for  him,  which  he,  as  a  friend  of  Louis  Na- 
poleon, had  scorned  to  take  advantage  of.  He  declared  that 
he  had  had  pity  for  the  poor  creatures  who  had  adored  him ; 


AX  AWKWARD  DILEMMA.  267 

for  he  could  not  help  it.  But  he  never  had  been  attached  to 
any  one  of  Hattie's  sex  until  he  saw  and  worshipped  her. 

Any  man  of  experience  can  understand  what  an  effect  this 
highly  improbable  but  artful  story  would  have  upon  a  girl  like 
Hattie.  Here  was  a  man  of  noble  blood,  who  had  been  unfor- 
tunate in  losing  his  rank  and  estates ;  who  had  consented  to 
accept  a  menial  position  for  her  sake ;  who  had  been  adored 
by  duchesses — even  by  the  Empress.  How  could  she  fail  to 
love  him  ?  If  she  did  not  give  him  her  heart,  would  it  not 
show  she  lacked  that  high  breeding  and  lofty  gentility  sup- 
posed to  belong  to  ladies  of  quality  ? 

Of  course,  Hattie  responded  to  the  courier's  passion — re- 
sponded so  ardently  that  after  the  trio  had  gone  into  Spain, 
had  reached  Granada,  and  were  at  the  Fonda  de  Alameda, 
even  the  old  gentleman  discovered  the  fact  beyond  any  doubt. 
Paterfamilias  was  in  a  quandary.  He  knew  it  would  do  no 
good  to  cut  the  fellow's  throat ;  they  were  in  a  strange  coun- 
try ;  probably  no  one  would  ever  know  anything  about  the 
imprudent  affair;  and,  moreover,  the  courier  expressed  his 
anxiety  to  make  the  girl  his  wife,  putting  it  on  the  ground  of 
love  and  honor,  when  he  was  really  in  search  of  her  money. 

Paterfamilias,  wonderfully  perplexed,  told  his  employe  to 
call  again  in  the  morning.  He  afterward  questioned  his  daugh- 
ter, who  informed  papa  what  a  magnificent  fellow  "  Alphonse  " 
was ;  what  his  real  position  was ;  and  how  good  and  chivalrous 
he  had  been  to  her.  Papa  was  unable  to  perceive  the  chivalry, 
and  asked  his  daughter  how  she  happened  to  so  far  forget  her- 
self as  to  love  such  a  fellow.  She  replied  that  she  had  always 
been  discreet  until  one  evening  when  Alphonse  and  she  were 
walking  about  the  Alhambra.  He  was  telling  her  how  much 
he  loved  her;  the  old  ruin  looked  so  beautiful;  the  moon 
shone  so  brightly ;  Alphonse  was  so  tender.  "  Oh,  dear  papa, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  Alhambra,  I  am  sure  I  should  never 
have  admitted  my  attachment." 

The  old  gentleman — as  I  heard  the  tale,  which  seemed  to 
have  become  known,  in  some  mysterious  manner,  to  everybody 
in  the  hotel — deemed  it  best  to  have  his  daughter  married  to 


268  THE  ALHAMBRA. 

the  courier,  and  to  give  him  a  certain  sum  of  money  for  his 
consent  to  a  divorce.  When  Hattie  learned  of  Alphonse's 
willingness  to  give  her  up  for  ten  thousand  francs ;  also  that 
his  entire  story  was  false ;  that  he  was  nothing  but  a  common 
courier — she  was  not  apprised  of  this  until  after  the  ceremony 
— she,  very  naturally,  despised  him. 

The  marriage  took  place  in  her  own  room,  a  priest  being 
paid  liberally  for  his  trouble,  and  two  days  after  she  returned 
north  with  her  father,  Alphonse  having  preceded  them,  de- 
lighted at  his  good  fortune,  chuckling  over  the  pleasant  manner 
in  which  he  had  made  what  to  a  common  Frenchman  is  quite 
a  large  sum. 

Alphonse,  I  understand,  is  now  the  proprietor  of  a  cafe  in 
the  Rue  de  Seine,  in  the  Quartier  Latin. 

The  Alhambra  is  the  object  that  takes  most  travellers  to  Gra- 
nada. It  stands  on  an  eminence  between  the  Genii  and  Darro 
rivers;  shaped  like  a  grand  piano,  reached  through  a  shady 
grove  of  elms,  and  a  favorite  resort  of  nightingales.  The  en- 
trance is  an  oblong  court,  a  colonnade  at  each  end,  and  a 
basin  of  water  in  the  middle,  bordered  with  flowers.  Next 
is  the  Court  of  Lions,  so  called  because  the  fountain  in  the 
middle  is  supported  by  sculptured  lions,  and  in  it  is  a  colon- 
nade of  fully  one  hundred  and  fifty  beautiful  marble  columns. 
Then  comes  a  great  hall  sixty  feet  high — the  spacious  doors 
and  windows  are  in  deep  recesses — between  which  and  the 
oblong  court  is  a  beautiful  gallery  used  formerly  for  conversa- 
tion and  promenading.  There  is  a  large  bedchamber  with  two 
alcoves  and  many  columns—  also  containing  a  fountain,  and 
paved  with  marble  in  checkers.  The  ceilings  are  richly  orna- 
mented and  in  imitation  of  stalactites,  while  the  friezes  are 
arabesque,  at  once  graceful  and  striking,  and  in  accordance,  it 
is  said,  with  the  inscriptions  upon  different  apartments  of  the 
palace.  My  knowledge  of  Arabic  is  too  imperfect  to  translate 
the  inscriptions,  which  are  declared  to  be  very  apt  and  forcible. 
One,  for  instance,  over  the  entrance  of  the  Hall  of  Judgment 
is  thus  rendered:  "Have  no  fear.  Here  justice  reigns.  En- 
ter, and  you  shall  find  it."     If  that  was  not  mere  rhetoric,  as 


ALHAMBRA  HILL.  '  269 

it  would  be  in  our  days,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  we  have  not 
advanced  much  in  respect  to  equity  since  the  Alhambra  was 
the  home  of  the  ancient  Moorish  kings.  In  New  York,  over 
almost  any  of  the  courts  might  be  written, — 

"  Enter,  and  fear  not,  provided  you  have  money. 

"You  shall  have  justice,  if  your  purse  be  long  enough. 

"  If  you  have  not  wealth,  contaminate  not  the  sacredness 
of  this  place  with  your  wretched  poverty  and  your  penniless 
presence." 

If  the  language  were  Arabic  it  might  sound  better,  because 
unintelligible.  But  in  whatever  tongue,  the  judges  and  magis- 
trates of  Manhattan  would,  through  their  decision,  interpret  it, 
at  least  in  spirit  and  effect,  as  I  have  rendered  it. 

The  palatial  fortress  is  on  the  Alhambra  Hill,  which  is 
2,690  feet  long  by  730  feet  in  its  widest  part.  The  walls  en- 
circling it  are  of  an  average  height  of  thirty  feet,  and  six  feet 
in  thickness.  The  principal  building  of  the  Alhambra  was 
begun  by  Ibn-1-ahmar,  in  1248,  and  finished  by  his  grandson, 
Mohammed  III.,  in  1314. 

The  greatest  decorator  of  the  Alhambra  was  Yusuf  I., 
whose  wealth  was  so  enormous  that  he  was  thought  to  have 
the  philosopher's  stone.  He  spent  immense  sums  upon  it,  and 
in  his  day  it  must  have  been  a  marvel  of  splendor.  From  the 
reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  the  deforming  of  the  Alham- 
bra may  be  dated.  The  monks  then  set  about  whitewashing 
and  removing  the  Moslem  symbols,  which,  to  their  narrow 
minds,  were  evidences  of  an  unholy  faith.  Charles  Y.  com- 
pleted the  spoiling  process  by  modernizing  and  rebuilding 
parts  of  the  grand  old  palace.  The  Alhambra  has  so  suffered 
from  neglect  and  marring,  that  it  is  wonderful  enough  of 
it  remains  to  recall  its  past  magnificence.  In  1812  the  French, 
in  evacuating  it,  intended  to  destroy  all  its  towers,  but  fortu- 
nately succeeded  in  blowing  up  only  eight,  some  of  them 
models  of  Moorish  art.  The  Alhambra,  which  means  in  Ara- 
bic "  The  lied  House,"  has  had  all  kinds  of  fortune,  having 
been  used  for  purposes  as  ignoble  as  noble.  War,  earthquakes, 
and  time  have  shattered  it.     It  has  been  the  abode  of  donkeys 


270  BALL   OF  THE  AMBASSADORS. 

and  sheep,  no  less  than  of  princes  and  warriors,  of  vandals 
and  galley-slaves.  Its  long  lines  of  walls  and  towers  crown 
the  hill,  following  all  the  curves  and  dips  of  the  soil,  as  if  it 
had  grown  there,  and  producing  the  finest  artistic  effect.  It 
seems  the  work  of  Nature,  and  yet  it  owes  its  origin  to  the 
ingenuity  and  taste  of  the  Moors,  who  out  of  the  barren  rock 
fashioned  the  highest  forms  of  beauty. 

The  Sala  de  Comares  is  particularly  attractive,  the  ceiling 
being  of  cedar,  inlaid  with  ivory,  silver,  and  mother-of-pearl, 
and  the  walls  stuccoed  and  ornamented  with  elegant  and  elabo- 
rate arabesques.  The  brilliancy  of  the  color  still  remains,  as 
well  as  the  delicacy  of  the  filagree,  though  more  than  five 
centuries  have  passed  since  they  were  wrought. 

The  Hall  of  the  Ambassadors  is  as  charming  as  unique, 
and  so  indeed  is  everything  connected  with  the  Alhambra, 
which  must  be  visited  often  before  it  can  be  appreciated.  It 
has  so  many  towers,  baths,  courts,  gardens,  halls,  and  apart- 
ments, that  their  number  and  variety  are  bewildering,  and  can 
hardly  be  apprehended  until  they  have  been  examined  and 
admired  again  and  again. 

The  lower  apartments  of  the  Alhambra  were  used  during 
the  summer,  and  the  upper  ones,  to  which  a  handsome  stair- 
case leads,  during  the  winter.  There  are  no  fountains  above, 
and  the  style  of  painting  and  ornamentation  generally  is  very 
different  from  that  below.  The  decorations  are  warmer  and 
heavier,  at  least  they  seem  so  to  me,  and  the  temperature  of 
the  rooms  appears  as  if  it  might  be  ten  or  twelve  degrees 
higher.  Unquestionably  the  Moors  understood  genuine  com- 
fort and  luxury  as  even  this  generation  does  not.  They  were 
the  first  people  who  emerged  from  the  positive  barbarism  of 
dress  and  furniture  (as  we  now  style  it)  that  had  preceded  them. 
They  were  the  first  to  wear  linen  next  to  the  skin — what  a 
moral  as  well  as  material  advance  was  that ! — and  to  revive  the 
habit  of  personal  neatness,  which  the  Greeks  and  Romans  had 
followed,  to  such  an  extent  that  physical  sweetness  became  a 
part  of  their  religion.  The  Mohammedans  ought  to  have  full 
credit  for  the  practical  teaching  of  what  John  Wesley  an- 


PLACES   OF  INTEREST.  271 

nounced.  Cleanliness  with  them  was  more  than  next  to  god- 
liness :  it  was  a  part  of  it. 

I  have  never  visited  any  place  more  prolific  of  suggestions 
than  the  Alhambra.  To  me  it  is  more  so  than  the  Coliseum, 
the  Pantheon,  or  the  Roman  Forum ;  and  yet  I  am  in  fuller 
sympathy  with  classic  Paganism  than  sensuous  Orientalism. 
I  could  lounge  about  the  old  palace  for  weeks  and  months 
without  weariness ;  for  it  has  the  peculiarity  of  seeming  new 
and  strange  every  time  I  enter  it. 

The  Alhambra  is  to  me  a  better  key  to  the  ancient  Moors, 
their  character  and  culture,  than  any  history  I  have  read.  This 
splendid  ruin,  which  is  being  restored  now,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
will  bear  any  amount  of  study  from  the  philosopher,  poet,  and 
antiquary.  Its  marbles  are  so  line  and  varied,  its  carvings  and 
paintings  so  unique,  its  form  and  arrangement  so  suggestive — 
indeed  it  is  so  unlike  anything  else  in  Europe — that  its  beauty 
and  freshness,  for  it  is  fresh  despite  its  age,  enter  into  one's 
recollections,  and  keep  warm  and  sweet  his  memories  of  foreign 
lands. 

Sitting  or  lying  beneath  the  venerable  elms  before  the 
Alhambra,  under  the  soft  moonlight,  listening  to  the  nightin- 
gales, is  the  poetry  of  wandering  and  the  distillation  of  senti- 
ment. 

There  are  many  interesting  things  in  Granada — the  Cathe- 
dral, and  the  tombs  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  of  Philip  and 
Joana  in  the  adjoining  Capilla,  the  sumptuous  palace  of  Capilla 
Mayor,  the  Cartuja  Convent,  with  its  fine  marbles  and  extra- 
ordinary paintings ;  the  Prado,  with  its  fountains  and  grand 
old  trees. 

November  is  a  charming  month  there,  and  if  the  hotels 
were  only  good,  I  am  sure  many  strangers  would  flock  to  the 
ancient  city.  A  railway  is  in  process  of  construction  between 
there  and  Malaga  and  Cordova.  I  hope  it  will  be  completed 
when  I  go  again,  for  a  Spanish  diligence  is  even  more  tedious 
than  a  Spanish  railway.  "We  were  fully  thirteen  hours  making 
the  thirty  miles  from  Malaga  to  Granada.  I  rode  with  the 
driver;  aired  my  scanty  Castilian,  and  gave  him  cigarettes, 


272  UNAPPRECIATED  JOKE. 

with  the  hope  of  increasing  his  speed.  I  knew  my  conversa- 
tion soothed  him,  for  he  slept  most  of  the  way,  and  only  woke 
up  to  have  another  smoke. 

"When  I  laughed  at  the  slowness  of  our  journey,  he  de- 
clared it  was  the  quickest  he  had  made,  and  he  had  driven  on 
the  route  for  twenty  years.  The  postilion  is  nearly  fifty,  I 
should  judge ;  so  if  he  took  to  the  road  when  he  says  he  did, 
he  must  have  been  to  Malaga  and  back  ten  or  twelve  times. 

"  Oh,  you  Americans,"  said  the  tawny  Jehu,  "  are  always 
in  a  hurry ;  you  think  a  man  ought  to  travel  two  hundred  miles 
a  day  (he  was  very  sincere).  You  are  never  contented  unless 
in  a  devil  of  a  hurry.     You  never  take  time  or  anything  else." 

"  "We'll  take  something  some  time,"  I  replied. 

"What?"  (drowsily.) 

«  Cuba." 

Joke  lost ;  answered  only  by  a  deep  snore. 


'^\^vev®Qy 


$&*-' 
^ 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

LISBON. 

E"W  cities  of  Europe  have  undergone  more  of 
a  change  than  Lisbon,  in  respect  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  streets.  From  one  of  the  dirtiest 
it  has  become  one  of  the  cleanest  capitals  on 
the  continent,  though  many  of  the  old  thor- 
oughfares are  narrow,  crooked,  and  even  filthy. 
Lisbon  has  quite  a  new  life  since  the  completion 
of  its  railway  connections  with  the  remainder  of  Eu- 
rope, and  is  said  to  be  increasing  steadily  in  population. 
There  are  indications  of  improvement  in  the  new  buildings 
going  up,  and  the  alterations  making  in  the  old.  With  nearly 
three  hundred  thousand  souls,  it  is  believed  that  in  a  few  years 
it  will  have  four  hundred  thousand.  The  trade  has  not  been 
so  large  for  many  years.  Rents  are  advancing,  and  numerous 
foreigners  have  opened  commercial  houses.  Hundreds  of 
Spaniards,  despairing  of  any  settled  condition  of  affairs  in  their 
own  country,  have  gone  there  to  live,  and  have  carried  a  good 
deal  of  money  with  them.  The  port  looks  very  bustling,  and 
the  harbor — more  properly  roadstead — is  one  of  the  finest  on 
the  globe.  Flags  of  every  nation  are  flying,  and  regular  lines 
of  steamers,  running  between  there  and  the  principal  points  in 
Great  Britain,  along  the  Spanish  and  French  coasts,  and  even 
to  the  far  East.  Lisbon,  from  being  provincial  and  isolated, 
has  become  cosmopolitan,  and  prosperous.  Seen  from  the 
river — it  is  situated  on  the  Tagus — it  presents,  from  its  rising 
situation,  an  exceedingly  attractive,  even  imposing  appearance, 
which  is  not  sustained,  however,  when  we  get  ashore.  Few 
18 


274  PROMENADES  AND    GARDENS. 

of  the  buildings  are  remarkable  for  architecture ;  but  those  of 
a  public  character,  in  Commercio  or  Black  Horse  Square,  are 
very  creditable,  as  well  as  the  Palace  of  the  Necessidades, 
where  the  Cortes  are  held,  and  the  San  Carlos  Opera  House. 
The  square  is  fine ;  but  I  cannot  say  as  much  for  the  eques- 
trian statue  of  King  Joseph  I.,  who  has  as  melancholy  an 
expression  as  if  he  had  had  a  presentiment  of  how  unnatural 
he  would  be  made  to  appear  in  public. 

On  the  south  of  the  Commercio  is  the  Tagus,  which  is 
reached  by  a  flight  of  steps. 

Another  notable  square  is  the  Pocio,  in  which  is  situated 
the  handsome  national  theatre,  recently  erected  on  the  site  of 
the  old  Inquisition.  The  barbarous  autos  da  fe,  of  which 
every  one  has  read  with  horror,  were  there  celebrated.  "While 
standing  on  the  spot,  I  could  not  help  thinking  what  a  mighty 
stride  reason  and  humanity  have  made  even  in  this  generation. 
It  does  not  seem  possible  that  so  little  time  ago  as  in  1835,  the 
Inquisition  was  for  the  last  time  abolished  in  Spain,  and  its 
property  confiscated  for  the  payment  of  the  public  debt.  The 
Supreme  Court  of  the  Inquisition,  to  which  all  other  courts  of 
the  kingdom  (Portugal  was  then  part  of  Spain)  were  subordi- 
nate, had  its  seat  at  Lisbon,  and  its  power  was  not  broken  until 
the  eighteenth  century. 

The  Passeio  Publico,  or  promenade,  is  small,  but  pleasant, 
and  handsomely  laid  out.  The  Praca  de  Ligueira,  used  as  a 
public  market,  is  a  picturesque-looking  square,  and  the  shady 
avenue  called  the  Saltire,  is  an  agreeable  lounging-place  of  a 
warm  afternoon. 

The  public  gardens,  well  stocked  with  olive  and  orange 
trees,  north  of  the  Rocio  square,  and  in  other  quarters  of  the 
town,  are  well  laid  out,  and  favorite  places  of  resort  in  the 
summer  and  early  autumn  evenings.  For  a  city  of  its  size, 
Lisbon  has  many  squares  and  gardens ;  the  people  having 
something  of  the  French  fondness  for  out-door  life,  and  much 
of  the  German  liking  for  sipping  wine  and  smoking  under  the 
blue  roof  of  the  sky. 

The  best  part  of  Lisbon,  that  which  has  been  rebuilt  since 


CHURCHES.  275 

the  great  earthquake  of  1755  (it  threw  down  a  large  part  of 
the  city,  destroyed  60,000  lives,  and  made  Yoltaire  an  infidel), 
lies  in  the  valley  between  Castle  Hill,  on  the  East,  and  the 
hills  of  San  Francisco  and  Do  Carmo  on  the  West,  and  consists 
of  several  parallel,  right-angled  streets,  bearing  such  names  as 
Gold,  Silver,  and  Cloth  streets.  The  Castle  of  St.  George  is 
remarkable  for  the  beauty  of  its  situation,  and  the  numerous 
convents  on  the  hills,  resembling  palaces  and  fortresses,  though 
sombre  and  dreary  when  entered,  have  an  imposing  and 
picturesque  appearance  at  a  distance. 

The  grandest  piece  of  architecture  in  Lisbon,  is  the  cele- 
brated Aqueduct  which  conveys  water  from  springs  rising  near 
the  village  of  Bellas  to  the  city,  a  distance  of  eleven  miles. 
Partly  underground,  it  crosses  near  the  municipal  limits  a  deep 
valley,  which  is  spanned  by  a  bridge  2,500  feet  long,  composed 
of  thirty  arches,  the  largest  of  them  over  100  feet  long,  and 
some  250  high.  The  water  is  delicious,  as  I  can  testify,  and 
from  the  rocky  cisterns  in  the  building,  known  as  the  Mother 
of  Waters,  supplies  the  entire  population. 

Lisbon  is  like  life.  There  are  a  great  many  ups  and  downs 
in  it.  Riding  there  may  be  good  for  dyspepsia ;  but  having 
the  constitution  of  a  camel,  and  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich,  I 
do  not  need  to  be  jolted ;  and  for  mere  pleasure  it  is  superflu- 
ous. Omnibuses  run  there,  but  only  in  certain  quarters,  on 
account  of  the  conformation  of  the  ground. 

The  churches  are  interesting,  particularly  the  Cathedral, 
the  oldest  in  the  city,  notable  for  containing  the  remains  of  St. 
Vincent — a  martyr,  of  course — who  has  been,  is,  or  will  be, 
(all  three  perhaps)  the  patron  saint  of  the  kingdom.  The 
saintly  ashes  are  regarded  with  great  veneration,  and  many 
persons  who  have  mental  troubles  and  physical  ailments  find 
themselves  relieved  after  attending  mass,  and  praying  near  the 
shrine.  So  the  ecclesiastic  authorities  state,  and  heretics  have 
no  right  to  doubt. 

The  Church  of  the  Martyrs,  erected  on  the  spot  where 
Alphonso  I.  mounted  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  rescued  it 
from  the  Moors,  has  a  number  of  points  of  attraction,  as  have 
also  San  Roque  and  Santa  Engracia. 


276  A   FIERY  SERMON. 

The  Portuguese  have  been,  and  are  still,  the  most  devout 
Catholics  in  Europe,  even  exceeding  the  Spaniards,  who  are 
beginning  to  be  affected  by  the  spirit  of  scepticism  that  now 
pervades  the  entire  continent.  The  churches  are  well  attended, 
though  less  so  than  they  were  before  the  lines  of  railway  and 
telegraph  were  introduced.  It  is  said  that  the  Roman  religion 
suffers  by  the  extension  of  electricity  and  steam,  and  I  have 
been  told  that  many  of  the  priests  regard  those  agencies  as 
great  destroyers  of  souls.  They  have  certainly  done  much  to 
revolutionize  thought,  to  break  up  conservatism  and  fixed 
custom,  and  diminish  the  weight  of  authority  as  opposed  to 
reason. 

Though  still  very  devout,  as  a  people,  many  of  the  educa- 
ted Portuguese  criticise  the  conduct  of  the  priests,  and  question 
the  assumptions  of  the  Pope.     They  only  perform  enough  of 
their  Church  duties  to  prevent  excommunication,  and  are  really, 
negative  in  their  theological  belief. 

I  was  informed,  while  there,  that  a  reverend  father  preached 
a  sermon  of  the  most  extraordinary  character.  He  declared 
that  the  world  is  rapidly  going  to  perdition,  the  Catholic  as 
well  as  the  Protestant  part  of  it ;  that  the  so-called  spirit  of 
progress  is  a  great  moral  and  religious  decline  ;  that  the  devil 
is  at  the  base  of  all  the  so-called  discoveries  in  science,  and 
inventions  in  mechanics ;  that  he  had  been  let  loose  upon  the 
globe,  and  was  carrying  everything  before  him ;  that  God  had 
permitted  this  to  prove  to  the  true  Christians  (the  Catholics, 
of  course)  that  general  education  and  prosperity  are  not  only 
dangerous  but  deleterious ;  that,  in  the  next  fifty  years,  ninety- 
nine  out  of  every  hundred  souls  would  certainly  be  damned ; 
that  there  would  be  no  public  or  private  virtue ;  that  every 
one,  seeing  the  dreadful  effect  of  doubt  and  fear,  would  be 
terrified,  and  flock  to  the  original  faith  (Romanism),  when  a 
kind  of  spiritual  millennium  would  reign  on  earth. 

If  he  did  not  feel  that  this  was  to  be,  said  the  holy  father, 
he  would  pray  that  that  much-abused  supporter  of  the  Church 
(pointing  to  the  site  of  the  Inquisition)  might  be  revived,  and 
continue  its  sacred  work.     Science,  freedom,  enlightenment, 


A  MIXED  POPULATION.  277 

were  only  synonymous  with  atheism,  and  would  never  have 
shown  their  hideous  heads  if  the  Inquisition,  ordained  by  the 
Heavenly  Father,  had  not  been  most  unfortunately  suppressed 
by  those  who  could  not  understand  the  purpose  of  the  Lord. 

It  is  not  probable  the  priest  who  delivered  this  moderate 
harangue  spoke  by  any  authority  than  his  own  (indeed,  I  have 
heard  he  was  reprimanded  by  the  Archbishop,  and  suspended 
from  the  pulpit  for  three  months  for  preaching  such  a  sermon) ; 
but  it  is  so  singular  that  any  sane  man  could  hold  opinions  of 
the  sort,  that  I  have  deemed  them  worth  reproducing. 

The  population  is  much  mixed,  containing,  in  addition  to 
natives  from  every  province  of  Portugal,  a  large  number  of 
mulattoes,  negroes,  and  Gallegos  or  Spaniards  from  Galicia,  who 
perform  most  of  the  menial  offices.  They  are  to  Lisbon  what 
the  Irish  are  to  New  York ;  but  are  noted  for  their  fidelity 
and  honesty,  and  have  the  reputation  of  making  excellent 
servants.  The  Gallegos  seem  to  do  most  of  the  work  done  in 
the  town,  carrying  water,  bundles,  and  burdens,  and  acting  in 
almost  every  servile  capacity. 

The  Lisbonites  reckon  values  by  reis,  or  millreis,  though 
no  such  coin  exists.  It  is  less  than  one  tenth  of  a  cent,  and 
when  the  price  of  anything  is  stated  in  reis,  it  seems  enormous. 
For  instance,  admission  to  the  lower  boxes  at  the  Italian  Opera 
House  (San  Carlos)  is,  if  I  remember,  three  thousand  reis,  and 
to  the  dress-boxes  thirty-five  hundred  reis,  which  was  quite 
startling  to  me  when  I  bought  my  ticket.  Surely  $3  and 
$3.50  in  gold  is  extravagant  rate  enough  for  an  opera  ticket; 
but  when  it  is  counted  by  thousands  of  reis,  the  privilege  of 
hearing  "Semiramide"  or  "Don  Giovanni,"  looks  like  bank- 
ruptcy. 

On  the  whole,  though  Lisbon  serves  very  well  for  a  few 
days'  visit  on  account  of  its  novelty,  it  is  not  likely  to  hold  a 
stranger  long,  to  charm  him  as  many  European  cities  do,  or  be 
a  bright  memory  when  he  has  gone  away.  Love,  and  peace, 
and  friendship,  and  generosity  are  there  as  everywhere  else ; 
but  tourists  are  not  in  pursuit  of  those,  and  cannot  wait  to 
find  them.  They  seek  only  the  peculiar  and  the  external 
which  are  open  to  all. 


CHAPTER    XXXY. 


ALONG   THE    RHINE. 


FTER  seeing  France,  one  naturally  goes  to 
Germany.  Its  recent  unification  will  be  very 
acceptable  to  travellers,  who  have  been  unable 
heretofore  to  tell  in  what  part  they  were  of 
that  much-divided  country.  The  old  maps 
make  the  number  of  German  States  thirty-seven,  con- 
sisting of  Duchies,  Grand  Duchies,  Principalities,  Land- 
graviates,  Electorates,  Republics,  and  Kingdoms,  some 
of  them  with  such  extraordinary  names, — Hohenzol- 
lern-Sigmaringen,  and  Schwarzburg-Sondershausen,  for  in- 
stance^— that  strangers  grow  bewildered  at  the  very  mention  of 
them. 

Stuttgart,  the  capital  of  "Wurtemburg,  on  the  Nesenbach, 
a  small  affluent  of  the  Neckar,  has  a  population  of  56,000  or 
57,000.  It  is  surrounded  by  gardens  and  vineyards,  and  en- 
tered by  an  avenue  of  poplars.  The  city  is  well  built,  and  has 
some  handsome  streets  and  squares.  It  contains  a  fine  library 
and  museum,  and  in  the  royal  palace  are  some  good  Flemish 
paintings  and  sculptures  by  Canova  and  Donneker.  Its  prin- 
cipal industries  are  printing  and  book-binding,  and  Cotta's 
printing  establishment  is  one  of  the  largest  on  the  Continent. 
Stuttgart  is  an  old  place,  and  is  named  after  a  castle  which 
stood  on  the  site  of  the  town  in  the  ninth  century. 

Carlsruhe — Charles'  Rest — capital  of  the  Grand  Duchy  of 
Baden,  is  four  miles  east  of  the  Rhine.  Its  principal  streets 
radiate  from  the  palace  as  a  centre,  the  gardens  of  the  palace 
forming  the  principal  promenade.     One  of  the  hospitals  was 


HEIDELBERG.  279 

endowed  by  Stultz,  the  fashionable  London  tailor,  who  for  his 
generosity  was  made  a  Baron  by  the  Grand  Duke.  The  city 
is  about  a  century  and  a  half  old,  and  contains  about  28,000 
people. 

Heidelberg  is  one  of  the  few  places  in  Germany  that  de- 
serves the  reputation  it  has  gained  for  beauty  of  situation. 
It  lies  very  charmingly  in  the  valley  of  the  Neckar,  surrounded 
by  lofty  hills  of  the  richest  green,  and  looks  as  if,  after  a  de- 
lightful chase  over  the  graceful  slopes  that  hold  it  in  soft  cap- 
tivity, it  had  run  down  to  drink  the  bright  waters,  and  fallen 
sweetly  asleep  in  contemplation  of  its  own  loveliness.  Though 
it  has  but  a  single  main  street,  and  contains  only  16,000  people, 
it  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  sojourning-places  in  the  Rhine 
region.  I  know  of  no  spot  I  should  rather  spend  the  summer 
in,  and  even  for  a  few  weeks  I  prefer  it  to  any  of  the  fashion- 
able spas. 

I  could  go  every  day  to  the  famous  old  Castle  on  the  Kon- 
igsstuhl — the  finest  ruin  in  that  country,  and  justly  styled  the 
Alhambra  of  the  Germans.  Its  towers,  turrets,  buttresses,  and 
balconies  are  so  extensive,  so  ivy-grown,  and  so  impregnated 
with  events,  that  their  interest  sinks  deep  and  lasts  long.  What 
a  strange  history  it  has  had  during  the  six  centuries  since  its 
completion !  Begun  by  the  son-in-law  of  Rudolph  of  Haps- 
burg,  altered  and  added  to  by  various  Electors ;  seriously  in- 
jured during  the  Thirty  Years'  War ;  almost  demolished  by 
the  barbarity  of  the  French  under  Louis  XIY. ;  and  finally 
struck  by  lightning,  and  the  little  that  had  been  left,  destroyed 
— its  walls  only  standing — it  is  more  beautiful  in  its  ruins  than 
the  most  pretentious  palace. 

A  very  good  restaurant  has  been  established  near  the  castle, 
so  that  those  who  like  can  strengthen  themselves  with  substan- 
tial when  their  romance  is  exhausted.  The  place  is  extremely 
popular,  the  road  to  it  being  lined  with  carriages  and  pedes- 
trians from  morning  until  after  dark.  Sentimental  persons 
affect  the  castle  after  moonlight,  and  the  students,  it  is  said, 
make  most  of  their  conquests  by  taking  their  fair  companions 
up  there  during  the  dangerous  hours.     That  is  hardly  just,  for 


280  GERMAN  STUDENTS, 

the  contest  is  too  unequal.  What  woman  with  the  least  poetry 
in  her  soul,  or  the  least  warmth  in  her  blood,  could  resist  even 
commonplace  wooing  backed  by  moonlight,  a  ruined  castle,  and 
five  centuries  of  history  ? 

German  students — or,  rather,  the  students  who  attend  Ger- 
man universities — are  generally  associated  in  the  feminine  mind 
with  a  good  deal  of  poetry  and  romance.  They  are  regarded 
as  high-spirited,  fascinating  fellows,  whose  time  is  divided  be- 
tween intrigues  and  duels,  and  who  are  constantly  fluctuating 
between  sentimental  suicide  and  a  career  of  highway  robbery 
in  the  Black  Forest.  There  are  seven  or  eight  hundred  of  the 
University  students  at  Heidelberg ;  and  as  I  once  came  within 
an  ace  of  being  sent  there,  I  have  observed  with  attention  the 
class  of  beings  who  might  have  been  my  collegiate  companions. 
I  have  noticed  them  too  at  Prague,  Gottingen,  Jena,  Bonn, 
and  other  academic  centres,  and  they  are  very  unlike  the  crea- 
tures fancy  has  painted  them.  Generally  they  are  very  plain, 
even  homely,  awkward  and  heavy-looking,  as  if  the  poles  of 
their  existence  were  tobacco  and  beer.  They  are  not  at  all  fresh 
or  youthful  in  appearance,  many  of  them  wearing  glasses,  and 
having  an  aged,  sheepish  expression  in  no  wise  prepossessing. 

The  animal  man  is  rarely  interesting  or  even  endurable 
before  he  is  five-and-twenty,  and  the  students  in  that  country 
seem  over  that  in  years,  and  under  that  in  experience.  When 
they  are  diligent,  they  incline  to  metaphysics  or  mathematics, 
which  are  the  antipodes  of  sentiment.  They  are  not  in  any 
true  sense  vivacious  or  romantic ;  but  they  are  fond  of  sensa- 
tion, without  knowing  exactly  how  to  create  one — very  much 
like  the  English  mob,  which  manifested  its  displeasure  with  the 
Government  by  pulling  down  the  railings  of  Hyde  Park.  The 
duels  they  fight  are  merely  brutal  stupidities,  the  combatants 
being  provided  with  masks  and  wooden  swords,  with  which 
they  bruise  and  hack  each  other  carelessly  enough,  knowing 
they  have  neither  beauty  nor  symmetry  to  lose. 

Their  greatest  performances  are  in  beer-drinking,  and  in 
this  they  excel.  They  are  capable  of  swallowing  twenty  pints 
an  hour,  and  from  any  one  who  can  do  that  nothing  more 


MANNHEIM.  281 

should  be  expected.  Beer  and  tobacco  in  excess  make  them 
turbulent — how  could  it  be  otherwise  ? — but  they  are  seldom 
attractive,  except  when  seen  through  the  lens  of  imagination. 
When  they  leave  the  University  they  often  become  solid  and 
useful  citizens;  but  they  are  so  callow  and  contracted  as 
students  that  they  are  seldom  interesting,  save  to  themselves. 

The  Heidelberg  University,  founded  in  1386,  is  the  oldest 
in  Germany,  except  that  of  Prague.  It  has  some  50  professors, 
75  or  80  teachers,  a  library  of  150,000  volumes,  with  a  number 
of  rare  MSS.,  and  an  income,  exclusive  of  fees,  of  $20,000. 
The  majority  of  its  students  are  instructed  in  law  and  medi- 
cine. Besides  the  University  there  are  in  the  town  a  college 
for  juniors  and  a  number  of  elementary  government  schools. 

Mannheim,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine,  in  Baden,  is 
low  in  situation,  and  protected  by  a  dike.  It  is  entered  by 
three  principal  gates,  and  is  remarkable  for  the  extreme  regu- 
larity of  its  streets,  forming  a  number  of  squares,  ornamented 
with  fountains,  which  lack  nothing  but  water  to  render  them 
worthy  of  the  name.  The  public  buildings  are  noteworthy ; 
the  theatre  being  famous  for  the  first  representation  of  Schil- 
ler's "  Robbers."  Mannheim  has  greatly  improved  of  late — its 
population  is  now  30,000 — having  become  the  largest  com- 
mercial city  in  the  Grand  Duchy.  It  was  once  strongly  forti- 
fied, and,  owing  to  its  situation,  has  been  the  scene  of  numer- 
ous conflicts,  from  which  it  has  suffered  severely.  During  a 
siege  by  the  Austrians  in  179 5,  only  fourteen  houses  in  the 
town  remained  uninjured.  It  is  a  very  cheap  place  to  live, 
and  several  hundred  English,  and  a  few  American  families  re- 
side there  on  that  account. 

Mentz,  or  Mainz,  is  the  place  where  tourists  usually  take 
the  steamer  to  descend  the  Rhine.  A  fortress  of  the  German 
Confederation,  it  had,  until  recently,  a  Prussian  and  Austrian 
garrison,  and  was  commanded  alternately  for  five  years,  by  an 
Austrian  and  Prussian  governor.  It  is  walled,  flanked  with 
bastions,  and  defended  by  a  citadel  and  several  forts.  A 
bridge  of  boats,  nearly  1,700  feet  long,  connects  Mainz  with  its 
suburb,  Castel,  near  which  the  river  forms  an  island.     The 


282  THE    VAUNTED  RHINE. 

city  is  partially  built  on  an  acclivity,  rising  picturesquely  from 
the  Rhine.  The  houses  are  high  and  imposing;  but  many  of 
the  streets  are  so  narrow  and  dark  that  they  are  far  from 
pleasant  walking-places.  The  vast  Cathedral  of  red  sandstone, 
whose  architecture  is  of  three  centuries,  is  impressive  and  in- 
teresting, from  the  number  of  historic  tombs  it  contains.  The 
site  of  the  house  in  which  John  Gensfleisch,  better  known  as 
Guttenberg,  was  born,  is  occupied  by  a  Casino,  and  a  fine 
bronze  statue  of  the  old  printer,  by  Thorwaldsen,  stands  in  the 
open  space  near  the  theatre.  The  public  market,  in  one  of  the 
squares,  affords  a  good  opportunity  to  get  acquainted  with  the 
costumes,  manners,  and  peculiarities  of  the  peasantry,  who 
come  from  miles  around  to  sell  their  products  and  wares. 
Mainz  is  one  of  the  places  where,  it  is  claimed,  Constantine 
beheld  the  vision  of  the  Cross  when  he  was  marching  against 
Maxentius ;  and  many  of  the  devout  citizens  absolutely  believe 
the  wonderful  story. 

The  Rhine  did  not  disappoint  me  when  I  first  descended 
it,  for  I  knew  all  about  it.  I  remembered  from  early  boyhood 
that  it  rises  in  Switzerland,  being  formed  by  two  small  streams, 
the  Hinter,  and  Yordher  Rhein ;  that  it  is  nearly  one  thousand 
miles  long,  including  all  its  windings ;  that  its  width  varies 
from  750  to  2,150  feet ;  and  that  it  empties  into  the  North  Sea 
or  German  Ocean.  From  Basel  to  Mainz  it  flows  through  a 
wide  valley  bordered  on  the  left  by  the  Vosges,  and  on  the 
right  by  other  mountains,  and  the  Black  Forest.  At  Bingen, 
begins  the  best  scenery,  in  the  shape  of  wild,  romantic  views, 
bold  precipices,  mountain  summits,  on  both  sides  of  the  river, 
with  castles  and  fortresses  frowning  in  ivied  decay  from  seem- 
ingly inaccessible  steeps,  and  with  openings,  now  and  then, 
through  the  rocky  walls,  furnishing  glimpses  of  fertile  vine- 
yards, smiling  valleys,  and  delightful  landscapes.  At  Bonn 
the  grand  scenery  ends;  but  pleasant  villages  and  towns, 
picturesque  islands,  and  graceful  pictures  of  nature  continue  to 
hold  the  eye  for  hundreds  of  miles. 

Many  tourists  feel  as  if  they  were  imposed  on  by  the  per- 
sons who  have  been  writing  up  the  overrated  river  for  the  last 


ROMANTIC    VIEWS.  283 

forty  years.     The  Rhine  has  been  more  praised  in  proportion 
to  its  merits  than  any  body  of  water  in  either  hemisphere. 

The  Germans  think  it  beautiful  because  it  is  in  Germany, 
which  is  natural  enough.  The  French,  when  they  take  the 
trouble  to  look  at  it,  believe  it  as  pretty  as  anything  can  be, 
outside  of  Paris.  The  Italians,  who  rarely  see  it,  say  it  is 
quite  good,  for  they  have  nothing  like  it.  The  English  laud 
it,  for  it  must  be  wonderful  in  their  eyes  to  surpass  the  Thames. 
Many  of  the  Americans  are  rhetorical  upon  it,  because  they 
are  afraid  they  will  be  charged  with  bad  taste  if  they  don't 
declare  they  admire  it.  E"o  doubt  our  trans- Atlantic  cousins 
set  the  fashion  of  verbal  extravagance  over  the  Rhine,  and  we 
have  slavishly  followed  it.  Again  and  again  have  we  repeated 
the  trite  stanzas  of  "  Childe  Harold,"  beginning, 

"  The  castled  crag  of  Drachenfels 
Frowns  o'er  the  wide  and  winding  Rhine  ; 
The  river  nobly  foams  and  flows —  " 

and  winding  up  with  the  sentimental  dash, 

"  Nor  could  a  spot  on  earth  be  found 
To  nature  and  to  me  so  dear, 
Could  thy  fond  eyes  in  following  mine 
Still  sweeten  more  these  banks  of  Rhine." 

Every  sentimental  woman  has  thought  "thy"  meant  her, 
and  every  romantic  youth  has  fancied  "  mine "  meant  him ; 
and  so  the  river  got  into  such  a  tangle  of  idealization  that  it 
has  never  been  fairly  straightened  by  the  hand  of  reason. 

The  Rhine  is  no  finer  than,  if  so  fine  as,  the  Hudson,  and 
the  Upper  Mississippi  is  quite  its  equal.  But  for  its  castles, 
its  legends,  and  its  associations,  its  scenery  would  not  be  deemed 
very  remarkable  by  those  familiar  with  the  Elbe,  the  Moselle, 
and  the  Danube. 

The  objection  I  have  to  it  is,  that  its  hills — they  are  moun- 
tains in  Germany — are  barren  without  grandeur,  and  not  being 
beautiful  either,  they  fail  of  effect.     They  recall  the  lakes  of 


2S4  THE  RHINE  FALLS. 

Como,  Maggiore,  and  Lucerne,  to  the  serious  disadvantage 
of  the  Rhine. 

The  scenery  near  Konigswinter,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
Seven  Mountains,  including  the  Drachenfels,  is  much  the  best 
on  the  river.  That  is  well  worthy  of  admiration,  which  I  can 
hardly  say  of  any  other  part  of  the  stream  between  Bonn  and 
Bingen. 

Siegfried's  slaying  the  dragon  and  becoming  invulnerable 
by  bathing  in  the  monster's  blood ;  the  desperate  love  of  Ro- 
land for  Hildegunde  (the  story  is  memorable  because  it  fur- 
nishes one  of  the  few  accounts  on  record  of  a  man  dying  of  a 
broken  heart) ;  the  imprisonment  of  the  daughter  of  the  Em- 
peror Henry  IV.,  and  her  secret  wedding  to  Henry  of  Bruns- 
wick, and  other  romantic  extravagances,  are  always  quoted  on 
the  Rhine  to  intensify  the  interest ;  but  they  remind  me  of  a 
charlatan's  recourse  to  large  posters  to  help  out  a  poor  show. 

The  Rhine  Falls,  near  SchafFhausen,  though  more  like  rapids 
than  a  cataract,  deserve  far  more  attention  than  they  receive. 
The  view  from  the  Schloss  Laufen  is  very  imposing.  The 
river  comes  boiling  down  through  four  channels  made  by 
high  rocks,  and  produces  an  effect,  when  you  stand  at  the  base 
of  the  falls,  or  row  up  to  them  in  a  boat — it  seems  as  if  it 
would  be  swamped  every  moment — that  is  not  soon  forgotten. 
The  Rhine  at  that  point  is  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  wide, 
and  descends  altogether  nearly  one  hundred  feet.  The  rain- 
bows, both  solar  and  lunar,  are  of  the  best  description,  and  a 
night  spent  at  the  cascade,  when  the  moon  is  full,  is  a  pleasure 
one  who  has  enjoyed  it  would  not  willingly  forego. 

Ehrenbreitstein,  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Moselle,  is  one 
of  the  strongest  fortresses  in  the  world.  The  Prussians  con- 
sider it  impregnable,  as  the  English  do  Gibraltar ;  but  nothing 
is  impregnable.  No  military  position  can  be  placed  beyond 
the  possibility  of  surrender.  Though  the  castle  is  perched  on 
a  precipitous  rock  nearly  four  hundred  feet  above  the  Rhine, 
it  has  twice  been  taken,  and  will  be  taken  again  no  doubt. 
Ehrenbreitstein  has  four  himdred  cannon,  and  vast  arched  cis- 
terns, capable  of  holding  three  years'  supply  of  water.     The 


A    GERMAN  ENTHUSIAST.  285 

panorama  from  Ehrenbreitstein  is  one  of  the  best  on  the  Rhine, 
and  repays  one  for  the  hour  or  two  employed  in  the  ascent  and 
descent. 

'  The  Moselle,  first  introduced  to  my  childhood  by  a  then 
popular  song,  "  On  the  Banks  of  the  Blue  Moselle,"  is  not  blue 
at  all — nothing  ever  is  what  it  is  represented — but  of  a  soiled 
green  color  when  it  is  not  positively  muddy.  It  is  a  very 
pretty  river,  however,  from  Treves  to  Coblenz.  On  the  whole, 
I  prefer  it  to  the  Rhine,  and  think  it  ought  to  be  seen  more 
frequently  than  it  is.  It  is  much  smaller  than  the  Rhine,  but 
far  more  winding  and  varied  as  to  its  scenery.  It  has  ruined 
monasteries,  and  castles,  and  legends,  and  histories  in  abun- 
dance, and  has  the  advantage  of  not  being  so  over-praised  as 
to  cause  disappointment.  Excursions  into  the  mountainous 
regions  of  the  Moselle,  particularly  the  volcanic  Eifel,  may  be 
made  with  profit,  for  they  command  fine  views  and  reveal  fine 
scenery  not  visible  from  the  deck  of  a  steamer. 

I  would  caution  tourists,  however,  from  following  all  the 
counsels  of  Bsedeker,  who,  being  a  German,  is  wildly  en- 
thusiastic about  everything  German.  He  is  an  honest  and 
trustworthy  guide  in  the  main,  but  he  counsels  all  his  readers 
to  travel  largely  on  foot,  and  ascend  every  elevation  between 
the  Oder  and  the  Rhine,  the  Danube  and  the  Baltic.  He 
talks  of  the  mountains  in  this  region  as  if  they  were  sky- 
piercing,  when  they  are  really  nothing  but  hills,  and  glows  over 
scenery  as  grand  and  magnificent,  which,  to  one  who  has  been 
through  Italy  and  Switzerland,  is  tame  and  unattractive.  He 
is  a  little  insane  respecting  pedestrianism.  He  urges  you  to 
go  to  the  top  of  a  mud-bank  more  zealously  than  he  does  to 
climb  Mont  Blanc,  and  describes  as  overwhelmingly  impressive 
what  is  altogether  commonplace. 

I  suppose  it  is  my  misfortune  not  to  have  been  born  an 
enthusiast.  I  came  into  the  world  very  weary ;  but  I  believe 
when  a  thing  is  beautiful  or  sublime,  I  can  recognize  it  with- 
out a  prompter.  I  have  made  a  rude  estimate  of  the  time  that 
would  be  required  to  do  Baedeker's  various  excursions  on  foot, 
and  have  discovered  that  to  embrace  the  Continent  a  man  must 
begin  at  eighteen  and  live  to  seventy-three. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

GERMANY. 

y*0  one  visits  Germany  without  going  to  Cologne  ; 
the  celebrated  Cathedral  being  the  principal  at- 
traction. Begun  in  1248,  it  is  not  yet  completed. 
It  was  neglected  for  generations,  until  some  eigh- 
teen years  ago,  and  now  it  promises  to  be  as 
nearly  finished  as  any  great  ecclesiastical  edifice  is  permitted 
to  be  in  the  Old  World.  In  the  form  of  a  cross,  over  five 
hundred  feet  long  and  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  broad,  the 
roof  resting  on  one  hundred  columns,  it  is  regarded  as  one  of 
the  purest  and  finest  specimens  of  Gothic  architecture  in  Eu- 
rope. Its  completion  will  cost  about  $5,000,000.  I  admire  it 
particularly  for  its  simple  grandeur  and  impressiveness  of 
effect ;  but  the  Duomo  at  Milan,  St.  Peter's  at  Home,  the 
Dom-Kirche  at  Vienna,  the  Cathedral  at  Strasburg,  and  other 
superb  churches  make  it  difficult  to  determine  which  one  is 
worthiest  of  artistic  worship.  The  architect  of  tlie  noble  pile 
at  Cologne  is  unknown,  and  the  original  designs  are  forever 
lost.  The  crane,  on  the  southern  tower,  with  its  long  project- 
ing arm,  remained  in  the  same  position  for  four  centuries; 
but  has,  I  think,  been  removed  very  recently.  As  the  Cathe- 
dral stands  on  a  slight  eminence,  the  external  gallery  com- 
mands a  fine  view  of  the  city,  the  Rhine,  and  the  surrounding 
country. 

Cologne — Koln  the  Germans  call  it — is  built  in  the  form  of 
a  crescent,  and  connected  with  the  town  of  Deutz,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  by  a  handsome  bridge,  to  which  the  old 
bridge  of  boats  has  given  place.     The  surrounding  walls  and 


COLOGNE.  287 

the  buildings  in  the  old  quarters  of  the  city  look  mediaeval. 
Many  of  the  streets  are  dark,  narrow,  and  extremely  dirty,  and 
little  relieved  by  the  thirty-four  public  squares.  It  has  mate- 
rially improved  during  the  last  twenty  years,  and  its  present 
population  is  about  115,000,  nearly  all  of  them  Catholics. 

Of  the  twenty-seven  churches,  that  of  St.  Ursula  is  among 
the  most  curious,  as  it  contains  what  is  declared  to  be  the 
bones  of  eleven  thousand  virgins  who,  on  returning  from  a 
pilgrimage  to  Rome  with  Ursula,  an  English  princess,  were 
barbarously  murdered  in  Cologne.  These  bones,  arranged  in 
cases  placed  about  the  church,  give  it  the  appearance  of  an 
anatomical  museum. 

The  city  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  its  reputation,  though  fra- 
grant enough  to  satisfy  any  ordinary  nostril.  Ever  since  Cole- 
ridge enumerated  its  odors,  and  wrote  the  familiar  quatrain, 

The  river  Rhine,  as  is  well  known, 
Doth  wash  the  city  of  Cologne  ; 
But  tell,  ye  nymphs,  what  power  divine 
Shall  henceforth  wash  the  river  Rhine  ? 

the  town  has  been  declared  the  most  ill-smelling  in  Eu- 
rope. I  recognize  its  claims  to  the  distinction,  but  I  have  had 
so  wide  an  experience  in  Germany,  that  I  do  not  believe 
superiority  of  stenches  should  be  too  unreservedly  assigned  to 
Cologne.  Other  German  towns  might  successfully  dispute  the 
claim,  and  were  any  wagers  laid,  and  were  I  appointed  one  of 
the  determining  committee,  I  should  not  want  to  hold  the 
stakes  unless  I  could  have  the  privilege  at  the  same  time  of 
holding  my  nose. 

Is  it  not  strange  that  one  of  the  most  popular  perfumes, 
sold  there  by  forty-three  original  Jean  Marie  Farinas,  should  be 
named  after  the  most  unsavory  city  on  the  Continent  ?  I  don't 
think  the  Cologne  should  be  exported.  It  is  all  needed  at 
home.  If  the  amount  annually  manufactured  could  sweeten 
one  square  foot  of  the  offensive  city,  I  should  be  willing  to 
believe  it  all  original  Jean  Marie  Farina. 

Aix  la  Chapelle  (Aachen,  in  German)  has  lost  its  old  grand- 


288  AJX  LA    CHAPELLE. 

eur  as  an  imperial  city,  and  has  few  reminiscences  even  of 
Charlemagne,  who  founded  it,  and  made  it  his  principal  resi- 
dence. The  Cathedral  has  two  distinct  parts  of  different 
architecture ;  the  part  erected  by  the  great  Emperor,  at  the 
close  of  the  eighth  century,  being  an  octagon  surrounded  by  a 
sixteen-sided  gallery,  and  ending  in  a  cupola.  Under  the 
chandelier  presented  by  Frederick  Barbarossa  is  the  tomb  of 
Charlemagne,  which,  having  been  opened  in  the  year  1000, 
showed  the  dead  monarch  seated  on  a  marble  throne. 

The  sacristy  of  the  Church  contains  a  gown  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  the  baby  clothes  of  the  infant  Jesus ;  the  bloody  cloth 
in  which  the  body  of  John  the  Baptist  was  wrapped  after  his 
execution  ;  the  napkin  with  which  the  loins  of  Christ  were 
girded  on  the  Cross,  with  other  articles  of  apparel  worn  by 
him  and  his  mother.  You  are  not  bound  to  believe  that  these 
things  are  genuine.  If  you  pay  fifteen  silver-groschen,  you 
are  privileged  to  hold  what  opinion  you  choose ;  and  if  you 
give  a  liberal  trinkgeld  to  the  sacristan,  you  can  express  any 
scepticism  you  like. 

The  citizens,  nearly  all  of  the  Roman  faith,  regard  the 
relics  as  supremely  sacred,  and  do  not  usually  allow  them  to 
be  shown  to  strangers  more  than  once  in  seven  years.  If  they 
would  extend  the  time  to  seven  thousand,  it  would  be  quite  as 
well. 

I  have  heard  that  the  Munsterkirche,  as  it  is  often  styled, 
also  owns  the  cast-off  garments  of  most  of  the  saints,  the  core 
of  the  apple  Eve  ate,  the  pipe  Adam  smoked  in  Eden,  several 
of  the  roars  the  lions  greeted  Daniel  with  on  the  occasion  of 
his  compulsory  visit,  and  the  umbrella  St.  Peter  carried  when 
he  went  to  market.  This  is  probably  a  mistake ;  but  I  am 
confident  the  Church  could  and  would  furnish  those  articles, 
and  many  more  if  they  were  wanted ;  for  its  producing  power 
in  that  way  is  unlimited. 

Worms  (near  the  Rhine,  in  Hesse-Darmstadt),  noted  for  its 
Diets,  its  antiquity,  and  historic  associations,  always  interests 
me.  It  existed  before  the  arrival  of  the  Romans,  and  in  the 
thirteenth  century  had  70,000  souls,  though  now  it  cannot 


WORMS  AXD    CASSEL  289 

boast  of  more  than  13,000.  In  1C89,  the  French  burned  the 
whole  city,  the  Cathedral  and  Synagogue  excepted.  The 
Cathedral,  more  than  eight  and  a  half  centimes  old,  with  its 
two  cupolas  and  four  slender  towers,  is  an  excellent  specimen 
of  the  Romanesque.  The  open  space  before  the  Church  is 
supposed  to  have  been  the  spot  where  Brunhilde  and  Chrim- 
hilde  quarreled,  as  chronicled  in  the  Nibelungen-lied,  most  of 
whose  scenes  are  laid  in  the  venerable  city.  The  Jewish  com- 
munity of  Worms  is  said  to  have  existed  588  years  B.C.,  and 
their  old  Synagogue  is  much  more  interesting  to  antiquarians, 
therefore,  than  to  ordinary  tourists  like  myself. 

When  I  visited  Cassel  (its  population  is  about  40,000), 
capital  of  Hesse- Cassel,  and  the  palace  of  Wilhelmshohe,  a  few 
months  before  the  war,  I  did  not  dream  it  would  be  the  prison- 
place  of  the  French  Emperor,  who  then  seemed  at  the  height 
of  his  power.  Cassel  is  delightfully  situated  on  both  sides  of 
the  Fulda,  and  divided  into  the  Old  Town,  and  Upper  and 
Lower  New  Town,  with  several  suburbs.  The  Old  Town,  con- 
nected by  a  stone  bridge  with  the  New,  is  noted  for  narrow 
and  dingy  streets,  relieved  by  the  broad,  handsome  thorough- 
fares, and  spacious  squares  of  the  other  quarter.  The  Museum 
in  the  New  Town  is  the  finest  building  in  the  city,  and  its 
library  and  antiquities  are  interesting,  though  not  much  can  be 
•said  in  favor  of  most  of  its  pictures.  The  gardens  of  the  sum- 
mer palace  of  the  Elector,  with  their  groves  and  statues,  of 
which  Louis  Napoleon  had  full  range,  would  not  be  thought 
very  disagreeable  for  a  captive ;  though  he  ultimately  discov- 
ered, as  all  prisoners  have,  that  without  freedom  the  love- 
liest spot  of  earth  must  be  repulsive.  The  palace  is  irregular 
but  looks  picturesque  from  its  position  and  surroundings,  and 
was  erected  at  great  expense.  If  a  man  must  be  a  prisoner, 
Wilhelmshohe  (William's  Heights)  is  more  than  could  be  ex- 
pected from  a  prison. 

Being  in  Germany,  I  naturally  had  a  desire  to  see  the  four 
free  cities,. which  are  no  longer  free,  having  passed  under  the 
domination  of  the  Emperor  William. 

Frankfort-on-the-Main  is  likely  to  disappoint  one  as  to  size, 
19 


290  FRANKFORT-  ON-T HE-MAIN. 

for  the  reason  that  its  reputation  is  so  widely  extended.  Al- 
most everybody,  forgetting  his  geography,  expects  to  find  its 
population  at  least  200,000  or  300,000,  instead  of  85,000  or 
90,000,  as  it  actually  is.  The  city  lies  in  a  narrow  but  charm- 
ing valley,  the  heights  of  the  Rodenburg  and  the  summits  of 
the  Taunus  on  the  north,  and  is  surrounded  by  public  grounds, 
on  which  are  built  many  handsome  and  tasteful  residences. 
The  German  Emperors  were  formerly  elected  and  crowned 
there,  and  old  watch-towers  at  different  points  in  the  neighbor- 
hood indicate  the  ancient  limits  of  the  city.  One  of  the  most 
conspicuous  objects  in  the  town  is  Launitz's  monument  of  Gut- 
tenberg.  Guttenberg  is  the  central  figure ;  Faust  and  Schoeffer 
are  on  the  right  and  left,  and  the  likenesses  of  thirteen  cele- 
brated printers  adorn  the  frieze ;  while  in  the  niches  under- 
neath are  the  arms  of  the  four  towns  where  printing  was  ear- 
liest practiced,  and  on  separate  pedestals  are  feminine  figures 
emblematic  of  Industry,  Natural  History,  Poetry,  and  The- 
ology. 

In  the  Hirschgraben  is  the  house  in  which  Goethe  was 
born.  It  is  one  of  the  first  places  strangers  visit,  particularly 
the  attics  facing  the  court,  where  the  poet  lived,  and  where  he 
wrote  his  "  Werther,"  and  "  Goetz  von  Berlichingen."  On 
the  north  side  of  the  town  is  the  statue  of  the  poet,  represent- 
ing him  in  modern  costume,  with  a  wreath  of  laurel  in  his 
hand,  while  bas-reliefs  on  the  pedestal  illustrate  the  principal 
characters  of  his  creation. 

Fronting  the  quay,  along  the  river,  are  a  number  of  fine 
dwellings  occupied  by  diplomatists,  merchants,  and  bankers. 
The  finest  street  in  the  city  is  the  Zeil,  bordered  by  handsome 
shops  and  warehouses,  in  which  the  greater  part  of  the  trade 
is  transacted.  The  Judengasse  (Jews'  street)  is  noted  for  its 
dirty,  gloomy  and  antiquated  houses,  where,  until  1806,  all  the 
Jews  in  the  town — they  now  number  some  5,000  in  all — re- 
sided in  self-defence,  on  account  of  the  tyrannical  treatment  to 
which  they  were  subjected.  The  house  in  which  the  founder 
of  the  great  firms  of  the  Rothschilds  was  born — 1743 — and 
lived  for  many  years,  is  still  standing,  and  looks   dingy  and 


THE  HOUSE   OF  THE  ROTHSCHILDS. 


291 


dreary  enough.  He  was  Mayer  Anselm  Rothschild,  and  edu- 
cated for  a  rabbi,  but  could  not  resist'  his  commercial  instinct, 
and  found  his  vocation  in  a  Hanoverian  banking-house.  The 
parent  firm  of  the 
Rothschild,  in  a  cor- 
ner house,  between 
the  Zeil  and  the  Ju- 
dengasse — the  other 
firms  are  in  Vienna, 
Paris,  Naples  and 
London — is  so  un- 
pretending that, 
when  I  first  entered 
it  with  a  letter  of 
credit,  thought  I 
must  have  made  a 
mistake.  The  whole 
establishment  d  i  d 
not  seem  to  be  worth 
more  than  $500,  in- 
stead of  wielding 
such  an  immense 
capital  that  it  has 
been  a  boast  of  the 
great  bankers  that 
no  king  in  Europe 
could  go  to  war 
without  the  consent 
of  the  Rothschilds. 
The  Cathedral, 
more  than  six  cen- 
turies old,  is  inter- 
esting from  the  fact 
that  the  Emperors  of  Germany  Were  formerly  crowned  at  its 
high  altar,  after  they  had  been  elected,  in  the  chapel  to  the 
right.  Near  the  Cathedral  is  a  corner  house  from  which  Luther 
is  said  to  have  addressed  the  people  when  on  his  journey  to 


PEASANT  COSTUMES,   GERMANY. 


292  BREMEN. 

Worms,  and  a  stone  effigy  of  the  Reformer,  with  an  inscrip- 
tion, marks  the  spot. 

There  are  many  public  buildings,  and  several  art  galleries 
(the  Stadel  is  vastly  overrated)  in  Frankfort,  which,  for  its 
population,  is  considered  the  wealthiest  city  on  the  globe.  I 
have  heard  that  at  least  a  hundred  of  its  citizens  are  worth  over 
$10,000,000  each,  and  that  the  possession  of  a  paltry  $2,000,- 
000  or  $3,000,000  is  regarded  there  as  contemptible. 

Bremen,  another  of  the  free  cities,  is  situated  on  both  banks 
of  the  Weser,  and  has  a  population  of  some  75,000,  nearly  all 
Protestants.  Like  so  many  of  the  German  cities,  it  is  divided 
into  the  Old  and  the  New  Town  ;  the  former  representing  the 
middle  ages,  and  the  latter  the  spirit  of  modern  improvement. 
Bremen  is  not  interesting  in  architecture,  art,  or  associations, 
being  exclusively  commercial  in  its  character.  It  has  an  exten- 
sive foreign  trade,  especially  with  this  country.  Its  shipping  has 
more  than  doubled  in  the  last  twenty  years,  and  is  still  increas- 
ing ;  though,  owing  to  bars  in  the  river,  large  vessels  cannot  get 
further  than  the  mouth  of  the  Weser,  where  Bremerhafen, 
thirty-five  miles  distant,  has  been  built  for  their  accommoda- 
tion. 

Bremen  is  the  principal  German  port  for  the  debarkation 
of  emigrants  for  the  United  States.  It  is  curious,  interesting, 
and  somewhat  sad  to  watch  the  poor  people  leaving  their  native 
land  for  a  far-off  shore  and  future  home,  where,  whatever  their 
expectations  of  ultimate  gain,  there  must  be  uncertainty  and 
anxiety,  severe  trial  and  muck  hardship,  before  they  can  adapt 
themselves  to  the  new  life  of  the  Republic.  Coming  as  they 
do  from  every  part  of  what  is  now  the  Empire,  their  costumes 
and  manners  differ  widely,  and  seem  grotesque  enough  to  one 
accustomed  to  metropolitan  uniformity  and  routine.  A  large 
part  of  the  emigrants  are  from  the  agricultural  districts,  and  the 
small  towns ;  and  I  do  not  wonder  they  are  amazed  and  per- 
plexed when  they  catch  their  first  views  of  the  promised  land 
in  the  tumult  of  Castle  Garden  and  the  roar  of  Broadway. 

Hamburg,  the  third  of  the  once  free  cities,  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Elbe,  some  seventy  miles  from  its  mouth,  is  the  greatest 


HAMBURG. 


293 


commercial  port  on  the  Continent.  Fully  four  miles  in  cir- 
cumference, with  a  population  of  nearly  200,000,  it  is  enclosed 
by  shaded  walks  on  the  site  of  its  former  fortifications,  and  in- 
tersected by  canals  IMllffjiF 
and  branches  of  the  -' 
Alster  river.  Like  £i 
most  of  the  German  "_ 
cities,  it  enjoys  the  ^* 
reputation  of  having 
been  founded  by 
Charlemagne,  a  n  d 
many  of  its  streets  ^@ 
and  its  buildings  are  ]fp 
sufficiently  old  and  * 
dismal  to  have  be-  ^ 
longed  to  his  time. 
The  banks  of  the  In- 
ner Alster — a  lake 
within  the  eity — are 
covered  with  private 
residences,  and  the 
lake  itself  in  pleasant 
weather  is  thronge 
with  pleasure  boats, 
giving  it  a  very  ani- 
mated appearance. 
The  commerce  of 
Hamburg  is  much 
facilitated  i>y  canals 
connecting  it  with  , 
the  Baltic  and  with         l  "  "^ 

..  .  ,  ,  IM-ASANT      COSTUMES,     GERMANY. 

the   interior,  but   it 

suffers  greatly  for  the  want  of  a  proper  harbor.  In  1842  a 
great  fire  destroyed  more  than  sixty  streets,  with  many  of  the 
public  buildings,  and  left  over  20,000  of  its  inhabitants  house- 
less and  almost  penniless. 

Lubeck,  thirty-six  miles  from  Hamburg,    is  on  the   river 


294  THE  PRISON  OF  BARON  TRENCK. 

Trave,  and  the  last  of  the  former  free  cities  of  Germany.  Less 
important  now  than  several  centuries  ago,  it  recalls  the  mediae- 
val time  by  its  surrounding  ramparts,  and  the  antique  style  of 
its  buildings.  It  has  considerable  trade  and  manufactures,  and 
a  population  of  32,000  or  33,000. 

Hanover  is  on  a  sandy  plain,  divided  by  the  river  Leine, 
and  in  the  New  Town  regularly  laid  out  with  an  esplanade,  on 
which  stand  the  monumental  rotunda  of  Leibnitz  and  a  col- 
umn commemorative  of  the  Hanoverians  who  fell  at  "Water- 
loo. Near  the  city,  which  has  a  population  of  75,000  or  80,000, 
is  the  old  palace  of  Hernnhausen,  where  those  dull  sensualists, 
George  I.  and  George  II.  delighted  to  dwell. 

Magdeburg,  on  the  Elbe,  seventy-five  miles  from  Berlin,  is 
divided  by  the  branches  of  the  river  into  three  parts,  and  is 
considered  one  of  the  strongest  fortified  places  in  Europe.  In 
the  formidable  citadel,  the  celebrated  Baron  Trenck  was  con- 
fined for  a  number  of  years.  Though  loaded  down  with 
enormous  chains,  a  massive  iron  collar,  and  a  ring  about  his 
body,  the  daring  adventurer,  in  spite  of  barbarous  cruelties, 
which  would  have  killed  almost  any  other  man,  was  again 
and  again  on  the  very  eve  of  escape.  Few  men  have  been 
more  exhaustless  in  resources,  more  versatile  and  more  bril- 
liantly audacious.  It  seems  a  pity,  notwithstanding  his  defects, 
that,  after  all  his  desperate  enterprises,  he  should  have  been 
beheaded  in  Paris  on  suspicion  of  being  a  secret  emissary  of  the 
monarch  who  had  been  his  lifelong  and  unrelenting  foe. 

I  have  seen  Trenck's  dungeon  in  the  casemate,  and  his  cell 
— made  specially  for  him — in  the  star  fort.  The  man  who 
could  persistently  have  tried  to  escape,  weighed  down  as  he  was 
with  manacles,  bolts  and  bars,  must  have  been  a  hopeful  and 
determined  spirit  indeed. 

Magdeburg  presents  a  good  appearance,  and  the  New 
Market  and  Old  Market  squares,  and  the  Furstenwall  prome- 
,  nade,  along  the  margin  of  the  river,  are  quite  pleasant.  The 
city  was  known  and  mentioned  in  the  records  of  the  eighth 
century ;  distinguished  itself  in  the  Reformation ;  was  taken 
by  storm  in  1631,  and  given  up  to  wholesale  massacre  by  the 


LEIPSIC.  295 

brutal  Tilly.  Hundreds  of  women  and  children,  who  had 
taken  refuge  in  a  church,  were  debarred  from  escape,  the  build- 
ing set  on  fire,  and  every  one  of  the  poor  creatures  burned  to 
death.  Almost  the  whole  town  was  laid  in  ashes,  and  at  least 
30,000  persons  were  butchered  in  cold  blood. 

Leipsic,  the  great  centre  of  the  book  trade,  is  on  an  exten- 
sive plain  on  the  Elster,  joined  there  by  the  Pleisse  and  Parde, 
and  consists  of  an  Old  Central  Town,  and  extensive  and  grow- 
ing suburbs.  The  Old  Town  is  quaintly  built,  but  generally 
clean  and  well  lighted,  and  contains  the  Eathaus  (Townhall), 
several  churches,  the  University,  founded  more  than  four  and 
a  half  centuries  ago,  and  the  great  Booksellers'  Exchange.  The 
suburbs  include  many  large  and  pretentious  buildings,  and  a 
number  of  gardens,  which  give  the  quarter  an  air  of  substan- 
tiality and  comfort.  There  are  about  one  hundred  and  forty 
bookselling  firms  in  the  town,  thirty-five  or  forty  printing 
offices,  more  than  two  hundred  hand-presses,  and  some  fifty 
printing  machines,  producing  annually  60,000,000  of  printed 
sheets.  There  are,  moreover,  five  or  six  type  founderies,  and 
one  or  two  more  are  soon  to  be  erected. 

Leipsic  is  noted  for  its  fairs ;  those  at  Easter  and  Michael- 
mas being  the  chief.  People  from  all  parts  of  Europe,  from 
Asia,  and  from  America,  to  the  number  of  the  whole  popula- 
tion— at  present  about  85,000 — assemble  there  at  such  times, 
and  in  the  vast  multitude  may  be  found  Armenians,  Hungar- 
ians, Poles,  Greeks,  Persians,  Turks,  and  other  representatives 
of  the  South  and  East  in  their  native  and  picturesque  costumes. 
Every  house  and  yard  is  then  converted  into  a  place  of  barter 
and  exchange,  and  the  principal  streets  and  market-place  are 
covered  with  booths  of  dealers  in  lace,  linen,  leather,  tobacco, 
pipes,  furs,  jewelry,  Bohemian  glass,  and  every  variety  of  mer- 
chandise. These  fairs  amply  repay  a  visit.  They  more  nearly 
resemble  the  great  fairs  at  Nizhnee-Novgorod,  during  July  and 
August,  than  any  that  are  held  in  Europe. 

Nuremberg,  the  third  city  in  Bavaria,  in  a  well-cultivated 
plain,  and  surrounded  by  ancient  walls  flanked  with  towers, 
and  enclosed  by  a  broad  ditch,  is  very  striking  in  appearance, 


296 


NUREMBERG. 


especially  when  viewed  from  the  heights  adjacent  to  the  town. 
Its  arched  gates,  narrow  and  irregular  streets,  and  quaint, 
gabled  houses,  precisely  the  same  they  were  two  or  three  cen- 
turies ago,  carry  the  mind  of  the  stranger  back  to  the  middle 
ages  without  any  effort  of  his  imagination.  The  Pegnitz, 
which  is  crossed  by  numerous  bridges,  divides  the  city  into 
nearly  equal  parts — the  Lawrence  and  the  Siebald  side.     The 


GERMAN    FESTIVAL. 


public  squares  are  numerous,  and  the  largest  (the  Haupt,  or 
Green  Market)  is  adorned  with  a  handsome  fountain  in  the 
form  of  an  open  Gothic  spire,  while  on  its  west  side  is  the 
house  where  Albert  Diirer  was  born.  The  Germans  are  wild- 
ly enthusiastic  about  this  great  artist,  as  they  style  him  ;  but  all 
his  pictures  which  I  have  seen — and  they  are  by  no  means 
few — look  like  caricatures  and  burlesques  of  nature.  I  am 
aware  that  Raffaelle  had  the  highest  admiration  for  Diirer's 


ITS  INDUSTRIAL  PURSUITS.  297 

genius,  and  that  the  Nurembergers  regard  his  memory  with 
religions  veneration  ;  but,  in  my  judgment,  his  tendency  to  the 
grotesque  and  the  fantastic  mars  the  effect  of  all  his  paintings. 
If  he  had  understood  drawing  and  coloring,  he  might  have 
been  a  very  creditable  artist. 

St.  Siebald's  Church  is  a  handsome  Gothic  structure  with 
a  richly-carved  portal,  a  massive  bronze  crucifix,  and  a  curious 
bronze  font.  The  tomb  of  St.  Siebald  was  executed  in  bronze 
by  Peter  Vischer  and  his  five  sons,  who  labored  upon  it  untir- 
ingly for  thirteen  years.  The  imperial  castle,  in  the  north- 
western corner  of  the  town,  is  conspicuous  by  its  height,  and 
has  in  its  court  a  celebrated  lime-tree,  said  to  have  been  planted 
by  the  hands  of  the  Empress  Cunigunde  eight  hundred  years 
ago. 

Nuremberg  has,  from  the  earliest  times,  been  remarkable  for 
its  industry,  and  the  inventions  of  its  artisans.  The  first  paper- 
mill  in  Germany  was  established  there  in  1390 ;  the  first  gun- 
carriages  were  made  there,  and  the  first  railway  in  the  country 
opened  between  that  city  and  Furth  in  1836.  It  is  now  notable 
for  its  manufacture  of  wooden  clocks  and  toys,  besides  jewelry  5 
telescopes,  musical  and  mathematical  instruments,  which  are 
sent  to  every  quarter  of  the  globe.  It  was  founded  in  905, 
and  at  present  has  a  population  of  some  65,000.  It  is,  on  the 
whole,  one  of  the  most  unique  and  interesting  towns  in  all 
Germany ;  for,  more  than  any  other,  it  has  kept  the  mediseval 
air  and  flavor  in  the  midst  of  countless  modern  innovations. 


CHAPTER    XXXYII. 

ATJGSBUKG   AND    MUNICH. 

UGSBURG-  has  always  interested  me  from 
its  age  and  history,  and  I  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  stop  there  on  my  way  to 
Munich,  from  which  it  is  only  thirty-five 
miles  distant.  On  rising  ground,  in  a  fer- 
tile plain,  at  an  angle  formed  by  the  junc- 
tion of  the  rivers  Lech  and  Wertach,  it  has 
a  population  of  some  46,000  or  47,000,  the  most  influential 
citizens  being  bankers  and  stock-brokers.  After  Frankfort,  it 
is  one  of  the  most  influential  money  markets  on  the  Continent, 
and  a  number  of  the  financial  firms  are  immensely  wealthy. 
In  past,  times  the  Fugger  family,  the  Rothschilds  of  their  day, 
raised  themselves  in  less  than  a  century  from  poor  weavers  to 
the  richest  merchants. in  all  Europe,  and  were  ennobled,  as  they 
might  well  have  been,  since  they  often  replenished  the  ex- 
hausted coffers  of  the  Emperors  Maximilian  I.  and  Charles  V. 
A  separate  quarter  of  the  city,  founded  in  1519  by  Hans 
Jacob  Fugger,  still  bears  the  name  of  Fuggieri,  and  is  enclosed  by 
its  own  gates.  A  free  imperial  town  in  the  middle  ages,  and  the 
great  centre  of  commerce  between  Northern  Europe,  Italy,  and 
the  Levant,  it  reached  the  height  of  its  power  and  prosperity 
in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries.  Clara  von  Delten 
was  married  to  Elector  Frederick  the  Victorious  of  the  Pala- 
tinate, Agnes  Bernauer,  the  lovely  daughter  of  a  barber,  to 
Duke  Albert  III.  of  Bavaria,  and  Philippina  Welser  to  Arch- 
duke Ferdinand  of  Austria — all  daughters  of  Augsburgers — 
and  Bartholomew  Welser,  a  distant  relative  of  Philippina,  fitted 


MUNICH.  299 

out  a  squadron  to  take  possession  of  Venezuela,  which  Charles 
V.  had  assigned  him  as  collateral  for  a  large  loan. 

At  Augsburg,  Charles  held  his  celebrated  Diets;  among 
others  that  of  1530,  at  which  the  Protestant  princes  presented 
the  renowned  Augsburg  Confession,  delivered  in  the  hall  of 
the  episcopal  palace,  now  a  royal  residence.  The  exterior  of 
many  of  the  buildings  are  adorned  with  curious  frescos  of  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  and  serve  to  recall  the 
faded  splendors  of  the  ancient  city,  said  to  have  been  founded 
by  the  Roman  Emperor  Augustus.  The  Rathaus,  Clock 
Tower,  and  Cathedral  are  among  the  most  noted  and  interest- 
ing public  buildings. 

Munich  is  a  much  finer  and  more  interesting  capital  than 
is  generally  supposed.  It  is  not  embraced  in  the  usual  Conti- 
nental tour,  and  consequently  many  fail  to  visit  it,  not  thinking 
it  worth  their  time  or  attention. 

Bronzes  are  among  its  specialties.  Every  square  has  two 
or  three  bronze  statues,  and  they  are  excellent,  generally.  The 
foundery  is  interesting,  and  must  be  visited,  of  course.  They 
keep  in  the  Museum  the  casts  of  all  the  bronzes  they  have 
made,  and  nearly  every  prominent  city  in  Europe  and  America 
has  had  one  or  more. 

The  bronze  of  which  Munich  is  proudest  is  the  Bavaria,  a 
colossal  figure  by  Sch  wan  thaler,  which  stands  outside  of  the 
town,  and  can  be  seen  for  some  distance  on  the  plain  on  which 
the  city  is  built.  It  represents  a  woman  fifty-five  feet  high, 
with  four  lions  at  her  feet,  holding  a  wreath  with  which  she  is 
about  to  crown  the  country.  Bavaria  is  addicted  to  lions  :  lions 
rampant,  lions  couchant,  lions  in  every  form  but  flight,  which 
is  said  by  the  latest  naturalists  to  be  the  animal's  favorite  exer- 
cise. The  Bavaria  is  the  largest  bronze  casting  in  the  world. 
I  am  willing  to  testify  that  it  is  the  hottest.  I  went  into  the  in- 
terior by  an  iron  staircase,  at  noon,  and  I  thought  I  should  melt 
before  I  could  get  down.  When  you  visit  Munich,  don't  fail 
to  miss  the  ascent  into  the  statue,  unless  the  thermometer 
happens  to  be  some  distance  below  zero. 

Beer  is  another  specialty  of  this  place,  and  an  excellent 


300 


BEER    DRINKING. 


specialty  it  is.  It  is  the  best  in  Europe — so  cool,  fine-flavored 
and  thirst-quenching  that  I  should  think  all  Germans  would 
make  Munich  their  residence.  I  believe  the  thirsty  and  right- 
eous Teutons  who  die  elsewhere  must  go  there.  It  is  certainly 
the  heaven  old  Gambrinus  would  have  chosen  for  dry  souls. 
I  have  observed  on  the  faces  of  all  the  inhabitants  an  expres- 


J1EEB   EBINIilKU. 


sion  of  perfect  satisfaction  that  can  arise  from  nothing  but  beer. 
If  I  liked  the  beverage  as  they  do,  I  should  surrender  all  other 
things,  and  drink  beer  for  a  living.  I  am  not  sure  they  do  not, 
for  I  have  seen  the  people  swallowing  it  at  all  hours  of  the 
day,  and  each  draught  they  seemed  to  enjoy  more  than  the 
former.  I  am  convinced  that  to  be  fond  of  beer,  and"  to  live  in 
Munich,  are  the  two  poles  of  bibulous  beings. 


DISAGREEABLE    ODORS.  301 

They  have  curious  mugs,  which  hold  nearly  half  a  gallon.  I 
supposed  they  were  for  a  company,  and  when  I  was  served 
with  one  I  said  that  my  companions  were  not  present.  To 
my  astonishment  I  discovered  the  mug  was  for  one  person, 
and  I  soon  saw  emerge  from  the  vessels  various  faces  with  a 
florid  complexion  and  moist  lips,  and  then  disappear  again.  I 
could  not  imagine  what  the  men  were  doing.  I  thought  at 
first  they  were  playing  some  grotesque  national  game,  which 
I,  as  a  foreigner,  could  not  understand.  They  were  drinking 
beer  at  the  rate  of  a  gallon  to  the  quarter  of  an  hour.  "What 
under  the  sun  do  they  do  with  it  all  ?  How  can  they  hold  so 
much  ?  I  should  suppose  they  would  wake  up  some  morning 
and  find  themselves  breweries. 

They  really  adore  beer,  these  Germans,  and  if  they  had 
their  choice  they  would  die  like  the  Duke  of  Clarence :  only 
they  would  substitute  for  malmsey — beer,  beer,  beer. 

The  German  cities  surpass  the  Italian  in  odors  of  the  dis- 
agreeable sort,  and  yet  they  are  generally  very  clean  in  out- 
ward appearance — far  more  so  than  our  own.  I  can't  account 
for  it  by  any  known  law.  In  America,  when  any  quarter  of  a 
city  or  town  is  unpleasant  to  the  olfactories,  the  cause  is  per- 
ceptible. Over  there  it  is  quite  otherwise.  While  walking 
along  a  very  clean  street  you  are  suddenly  almost  overpowered 
by  odors  the  opposite  of  Sabean.  They  are  peculiarly  pene- 
trating, and  too  prosaic  to  describe.  They  appear  to  rise  out 
of  the  ground,  and  are  so  potent  I  wonder  they  cannot  be 
seen. 

In  Munich,  where  the  greatest  care  is  taken  of  the  city, 
some  of  the  localities  are  supremely  unsweet.  I  found  out 
many  of  them  after  a  few  days,  and  gave  them  the  benefit  of 
my  absence.  The  first  hotel  I  went  to  there,  though  called 
one  of  the  very  best,  drove  me  away  at  once.  I  should  not 
suppose  it  had  been  ventilated  for  ten  years.  The  Germans 
don't  perceive  this  defect.  I  have  spoken  to  them  about  it, 
and  they  thought  it  a  mere  fancy.  Imagination  is  strong,  I 
know,  but  not  half  so  strong  as  the  odors  of  the  Fatherland. 
To  tell  a  man  that  a  perfect  storm  of  the  vilest  smells  he  can 


302  UNPLEASANT  HABITS   OF  THE  PEOPLE. 

conceive  of  is  a  fancy,  is  to  ignore  the  physical  and  degrade 
the  intellectual  faculties. 

It  has  occurred  to  me  that  the  Germans  eat  too  much  un- 
wholesome food,  and  so  phlegmatize  themselves  with  beer  that 
they  become  incapable  of  distinguishing  between  azaleas  and 
asafetida.  The  fragrance  of  what  they  swallow  regulates  all 
external  fragrances ;  just  as  certain  animals  have  no  perception 
of  their  own  balminess.  It  is  well  for  the  Teutonic  races  if  it 
be  so,  since  they  live  in  a  region  where  their  peculiarity  is 
their  self-protection. 

Of  one  thing  I  am  sure — they  are  principled  against  fresh 
air  or  ventilation  of  any  sort.  They  will  sit  in  a  garden,  but 
nothing  can  induce  them  to  place  themselves  before  an  open 
window  or  the  slightest  breeze.  Their  railway  carriages  have 
two  of  the  spaces  on  each  side  permanently  closed.  So  with 
their  cafes  and  restaurants,  in  which  no  American  can  drink  or 
dine,  in  warm  weather,  without  danger  of  suffocation.  Trav- 
elling is  almost  a  torture  in  summer ;  for  the  very  moment  a 
breath  of  air  stirs,  the  persons  in  the  carriage  with  you  close 
the  only  window,  and  expel  the  little  oxygen  that  is  in  the 
place.  In  Munich,  Berlin,  Augsburg,  and  Vienna  I  have  gone 
out  of  town  daily  to  some  garden  where  I  could  get  dinner  in 
the  open  air ;  for  taking  a  meal  in  the  sweltering  atmosphere 
they  so  much  love  is  not  in  my  physical  possibility. 

Hardly  any  city  in  Europe  has  been  more  improved  than 
Munich,  during  the  last  fifty  years.  Its  population  has 
largely  increased,  too,  being  now  (170,000  to  175,000)  four 
times  as  great  as  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  century.  To 
its  late  King,  Ludwig,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  art- 
mad,  Munich  owes  all  its  splendid  buildings  and  its  best  streets, 
which  he  planned  and  laid  out  himself.  The  Ludwig-Strasse 
.and  Maximilian-Strasse  are  two  of  the  finest  thoroughfares  on 
that  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  their  construction  must  have 
drawn  heavily  on  the  royal  treasury,  which  the  King  was 
.always  ready  to  empty  in  the  cause  of  art.  He  imitated 
almost  every  style  of  architecture,  and  the  result  is,  you  are 
reminded,  as  you  walk  about  town,  of  Rome,  Florence,  and 


ROYAL  LOVE  FOR  ART.  303 

Paris,  by  the  resemblance  of  the  buildings  to  some  of  the 
buildings  you  have  seen  there. 

The  Library,  the  largest  in  Europe  after  Paris,  the  Feld- 
hemnhalle,  the  Glyptothek,  with  its  statues,  the  Siegesthor,  or 
Gate  of  Victory,  the  Pinakothek,  with  its  fine  paintings,  the 
Konigsbau,  with  its  Nibelungen  frescos,  the  Propyleeum,  in 
imitation  of  the  Acropolis,  the  National  Museum,  Hall  of 
Fame,  Bronze  Foundery,  and  Stained  Glass  Institution,  no 
traveller  can  afford  to  miss. 

The  Opera  House,  the  largest  theatre  in  Germany,  is  quite 
handsome,  and  wholly  out  of  proportion,  one  would  think,  for 
a  city  of  its  size.  The  late  King  made,  and  his  successor, 
young  Ludwig,  makes  a  great  effort  to  engage  the  best  singers 
and  dancers  for  the  theatres  ;  but  the  most  liberal  offers  often 
fail  to  draw  the  artists  from  the  greater  points  of  attraction, — 
Paris,  Yienna,  and  Berlin.  The  tuneful  and  saltatorial  tribe 
love  money  with  a  Hebrew  affection  ;  but  they  like  great  cities, 
rich  admirers,  delightful  dissipations  also,  and  Munich  does  not 
furnish  these  to  the  extent  they  would  desire.  Still,  some  of 
the  operas  are  excellently  given,  and  the  audiences  are  highly 
appreciative  and  critical. 

Old  Ludwig  was  so  much  enamoured  of  Wagner's  society, 
that  he  kept  the  composer  in  his  palace,  and  was  never  happier 
than  when  listening  to  the  erratic  musician's  metaphysical 
theories  about  melody  and  harmony.  The  people  became  in- 
censed against  Wagner,  and  at  last  compelled  Ludwig  to  dis- 
miss his  favorite.  Wagner  was  sent  out  of  the  city,  and 
ordered  to  make  his  absence  permanent ;  but  he  goes  occasion- 
ally to  see  the  son,  though  he  never  stays  long,  for  fear  of 
again  exciting  the  anger  of  the  populace.  The  Bavarians  have 
no  great  fondness  for  artistic  monarchs  since  Ludwig  carried 
his  art  enthusiasm  so  far,  and  they  feel  sorely  troubled  that  the 
son  promises  to  follow  in  his  father's  footsteps.  The  annual 
industrial  exhibition  (  began  when  I  was  last  there,  and  the 
young  King  was  expected  to  open  it  in  royal  state  ;  but  he  ran 
off,  purposely  to  avoid  the  infliction.  He  says  he  hates 
politics,  business,  and  formal  ceremonies ;  and  no  doubt  he 


304  LOLA  MONTEZ  IN  MUNICH. 

does.  But  he  is  passionately  devoted  to  music,  sculpture  and 
painting,  and  is  perpetually  studying  them.  So  he  will  be 
very  apt  to  repeat  the  paternal  follies. 

The  Bavarians  watch  his  course  with  anxiety,  and  pray  in 
their  secret  souls  for  a  King  who  does  not  know  the  score  of 
an  opera  from  a  sax-horn.  They  declare  the  reigning  family 
is  monomaniacal  about  art,  and  they  are  not  far  from  correct. 

The  little  kingdom  is  so  much  under  the  domination  of  Prus- 
sia just  now,  that  young  Ludwig  might  as  well  amuse  himself 
with  fiddlers  and  dancers  as  anything  else.  Bismarck  will  do 
his  thinking  for  him,  and  do  it  far  better  than  the  jmppet  on 
the  throne.  The  young  fellow  wants  to  edit  a  journal  advo- 
cating certain  reforms  in  music,  which  I  consider  conclusive 
evidence  of  his  mental  derangement.  No  man  in  his  sane 
mind,  unless  reared  to  the  calling,  ever  wishes  to  edit  a  news- 
paper. 

Lola  Montez,  for  a  long  while  the  favorite  of  old  Ludwig, 
is  well  remembered  in  Munich.  According  to  accounts,  she 
carried  things  with  a  high  hand.  The  King  was  infatu- 
ated with  her.  He  did  anything  she  said.  She  was  Privy 
Council,  Prime  Minister,  Minister  of  Finance,  and  everything 
else.  She  threatened  the  King's  advisers,  who  held  different 
opinions  from  her,  with  personal  chastisement,  and  made  her- 
self so  obnoxious  that,  as  in  the  case  of  "Wagner,  the  populace 
demanded  her  removal.  Ludwig  refused  for  some  time  to  part 
with  her  ;  but  the  people  at  last  threatened  revolution,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  yield.  It  is  said  the  old  man  fell  at  her 
feet  when  she  went  away,  kissed  her  garments,  and  wept  like 
a  child.  He  called  her  a  divinity,  an  angel,  and  told  her  she 
was  his  guardian  spirit,  his  other  soul,  his  spiritual  affinity, 
and  I  know  not  what  besides.  The  poor  old  fellow  nearly  died 
of  a  broken  heart  when  Lola  departed,  and  it  was  some  months 
before  he  could  be  induced  to  return  to  his  hourly  beer,  a 
symptom  that  is  usually  followed  by  the  dissolution  of  the 
Bavarian  soul. 

Many  persons  hold  that  Ludwig5  s   relation  to  Lola  was 
entirely  platonic,  and  that  she  had  for  him  only  the  feeling  of 


EXPOSURE   OF  THE  DEAD.  305 

a  daughter  for  a  father.  Others,  of  a  more  secular  mind,  are 
unwilling  to  believe  this ;  for  they  think  the  King  was  very 
Jovelike  in  his  gallantries,  and  that  the  adventuress  held  him 
by  his  strongest  weakness.  Lola,  in  spite  of  many  faults,  was 
a  good-hearted  creature  ;  but  she  was  not  exactly  the  kind  of  a 
woman  of  whom  a  man  in  search  of  vestals  would  make  the 
first  choice. 

The  Cemetery  in  Munich,  south  of  the  Sendlinger  Thor,  is 
one  of  the  things  to  "do,"  as  it  excels  all  the  burial  places  of 
Germany  in  its  monuments,  and  the  taste  of  its  arrange- 
ments. The  new  Cemetery  is  surrounded  by  arcades  after  the 
style  of  the  Italian  Camni  Santi.  The  walks  are  handsomely 
laid  out  with  shrubbery  and  flowers,  and  every  effort  is  made 
to  dispel  the  dreary  feeling  commonly  associated  with  death. 

In  Munich,  as  in  Frankfort  and  other  German  cities,  the 
dead  are  exposed  for  a  certain  number  of  days  before  burial,  to 
prevent  any  possibility  of  premature  interment.  They  lie 
with  the  coffin -lid  off,  arrayed  for  the  grave,  a  wire  near  the 
lifeless  hands,  so  that  if  they  should  recover  from  the  stupor  or 
trance,  which  may  have  been  death's  counterfeit,  they  can  pull 
the  wire,  ringing  a  bell  in  the  room  of  the  watcher,  near  at 
hand,  and  always  awake.  This  exposure  is  rather  ghastly.  I 
have  seen  ten  or  twelve  corpses — old  men  and  women,  young 
persons,  children  and  infants — ranged  side  by  side,  covered 
with  flowers,  hideously  cadaverous  and  emaciated,  the  work  of 
decay  already  begun,  and  flies  covering  the  blue  lips,  wasted 
nostrils,  and  sunken  eyes,  causing  a  sickening  sense  of  disgust. 
Still,  the  people  (especially  on  Sunday)  appeared  to  enjoy  the 
revolting  spectacle,  crowding  against  the  glass  partitions  of  the 
dead-house,  as  if  they  longed  for  a  still  closer  inspection  of  the 
repulsive  corpses. 
20 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


DRESDEN. 


'K  Germany  the  traveller  is  struck  by  two  things 
-the  absence  of  babies,  and  the  presence  of  food. 
Lucina  knows  there  are  infants  enough  in  that  land 
— child-bearing  is  a  branch  of  industry  always  active 
from  the  Rhine  to  the  Danube — but  they  are  not 
made  the  partners  of  their  parents'  journeys  by  land 
and  sea,  as  they  are  in  this  country.  This  is  a  great 
satisfaction  to  any  one  who  dislikes  to  be  persecuted 
on  every  train  and  steamboat  by  roaring  of  children  who 
appear  to  have  been  sent  into  the  world  simply  to  scream. 
There  are  a  great  many  good  babies  in  the  world — I  have 
heard ;  but  they  are  always  kept  at  home.  The  Germans 
travel  a  great  deal,  and  have  a  great  many  children ;  but  they 
keep  the  two  apart.  Babies  are  excellent  in  their  place,  wher- 
ever that  may  be ;  but  railway  cars  and  steamboats  were  not 
designed  for  them  until  they  can  be  quiet  and  are  old  enough 
to  behave  themselves. 

The  Teutonic  appetite  is  something  extraordinary.  All 
the  Germans  carry  provisions  with  them,  even  if  they  are  to 
go  but  a  dozen  miles.  As  soon  as  the  train  leaves  the  station, 
or  the  boat  the  pier,  out  come  the  bread  and  butter,  sausage, 
ham,  and  I  know  not  what  mysterious  pabulum,  and  the  trav- 
ellers fall  to  with  excellent  will.  Our  friends  of  Fatherland 
must  have  an  active  and  rapid  digestion,  for  they  certainly 
consume  as  much  substantial  food  in  a  day  as  an  American 
would  in  a  week.  They  seem  to  eat  on  an  average  every  fifteen 
minutes,  and  I  observed  an  old  fellow  one  day  who  in  a  journey 


THE  RIVER   ELBE.  307 

of  fifty  miles  lunched  seventeen  times.  And  yet  there  is  no 
famine  in  Germany.     What  a  productive  country  it  must  be  ! 

Persons  who  go  to  Dresden  by  way  of  Aussig,  should  not 
fail  to  leave  the  railway  at  the  latter  point,  and  take  the 
steamer  down  the  Elbe,  one  of  the  finest  rivers  in  Europe, 
thought  by  many  to  be  superior  to  the  Rhine. 

I  was  very  agreeably  disappointed  in  the  Elbe,  though  I 
fancied  I  knew  the  character  of  the  stream  from  the  accounts 
I  had  had  of  it.  The  river  recalls  the  Hudson ;  but  many 
parts  of  it  are  grander  and  more  peculiar.  It  rims  through  the 
region  known  for  a  century  past  as  Saxon  Switzerland,  a  dis- 
trict formed  by  the  mountains  of  Meissen,  and  famous  for  its 
singularly-shaped  rocks. 

The  picturesque  country  extends  from  the  Bohemian  fron- 
tier to  Liebenthal,  and  from  the  Falkenberg  to  the  Schuelberg, 
twenty-three  miles  each  way.  The  most  effectual  method  of 
seeing  the  region  is  on  foot ;  but  as  Americans  have  little  fond- 
ness for  walking  when  they  can  ride,  the  majority  will  be  con- 
tent to  look  at  it  from  the  deck  of  a  boat.  As  the  mountains 
are  intersected  by  the  Elbe,  the  traveller  by  water  can  get  a 
very  correct  idea  of  the  beauty  of  the  region  between  Pirna 
and  Leitmeritz. 

The  yellow  sandstone  of  which  the  mountains  are  com- 
posed is  usually  cleft  into  rectangular  forms  resembling  dice. 
The  action  of  the  water  has  made  deep  gullies  and  fissures,  and 
torrents  have  overthrown  vast  masses  of  rock,  giving  to  the 
banks  a  sublimely  chaotic  semblance.  Some  of  the  rocky 
columns  are  so  tall  and  slender  that  they  may  well  be  termed 
needles.  They  convey  the  impression  of  great  insecurity,  and 
you  wonder  at  times  that  they  don't  fall  down  over  your  head. 
Other  columns  are  made  up  of  blunted  cones  heaped  one  upon 
another,  between  whose  crevices  pines,  firs,  and  other  trees 
grow,  as  if  they  took  root  in  the  solid  rock. 

Several  magnificent  gorges  are  on  the;  route.  One  of  them, 
the  Ultewalter  Grund,  is  a  mile  long,  and  so  narrow  and  deep 
that  the  sun's  rays  never  reach  many  parts  of  it.  There  are 
beautiful  grottos,  too,  and  handsome  wooded  valleys  with  rocks 


308  A   SUMMER   PALACE. 

overhanging  them,  and  frowning  down  as  if  in  envy  of  their 
pleasantness.  Many  of  the  rocks  bear  striking  resemblances  to 
haystacks,  chimneys,  giants'  heads,  turrets  and  battlements, 
and  are  sometimes  extremely  grotesque. 

The  Bastei,  or  Bastions,  are  several  peaks  rising  precipi- 
tously from  the  Elbe  to  a  height  of  nearly  a  thousand  feet. 
The  view  from  the  summit  is  imposing.  It  includes  different 
mountains,  wooded  gorges,  rocky  galleries,  fertile  valleys,  and 
the  windings  of  the  river  for  miles.  The  celebrated  Konig- 
stein  is  on  the  Elbe,  and  believed,  as  a  number  of  other  places 
are,  to  be  the  strongest  fortress  after  Gibraltar  on  the  Conti- 
nent. It  is  at  present  occupied  by  a  Prussian  garrison,  and  is 
also  a  State  prison.  The  archives  and  treasures  of  Dresden 
have  been  transferred  there  for  security  several  times  during 
war. 

The  whole  region  is  connected  with  historical  events,  and 
innumerable  have  been  the  struggles  for  mastery  among  the 
defiles  and  gorges.  During  the  Seven  Years  War  the  Saxon 
Switzerland  was  an  active  theatre  of  operations.  The  Lilien- 
stein,  the  highest  of  the  twelve  isolated  peaks  of  the  region, 
was  ascended  by  Augustus  the  Strong  in  1708.  At  the  base 
of  the  mountain  Frederic  the  Great  surrounded  the  Saxon 
army,  and  compelled  it  to  surrender,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
seven  years  contest. 

On  the  right  bank  of  the  Elbe,  at  Pillnitz,  is  the  summer 
palace  of  the  King  of  Saxony,  which  is  in  the  Japanese  style, 
and  surrounded  by  handsome  though  fantastic  gardens.  It  is 
a  singular-looking  residence,  and  though  called  a  palace,  ap- 
pears more  like  a  church,  with  its  tall  spire  and  clock. 

Johannes  is  said  to  be  a  good-hearted  old  fellow,  who  feels 
more  interest  in  literature  than  in  royalty.  He  has  translated 
the  "Divina  Commedia,"  and  is  delighted  with  the  praise 
bestowed  upon  his  work.  Since  Frederic  the  Great  wrote 
and  printed  books,  the  crowned  heads  of  Germany  have  had  an 
ambition  in  the  same  direction.  Frederic  coveted  versatility, 
and  he  had  it  to  a  remarkable  degree.  Wooing  the  muses  was 
not  his  forte,  though.  He  was  the  best  soldier  and  the  worst 
poet  of  his  time. 


PICTURE-GALLERY.  300 

Dresden  is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  cities  in  Germany. 
Though  it  contains  less  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
people,  it  has  numerous  art  collections  and  museums,  and  a  fine 
library.  It  has  been  a  favorite  place  for  Americans  to  study, 
and  is  still.  During  winter  there  are  five  or  six  hundred  of 
our  countrymen  there.  Some  of  them  live  in  Dresden  be- 
cause it  is  economical.  It  is  growing  less  and  less  so,  for 
wherever  the  Americans  congregate,  prices  are  certain  to  ad- 
vance. 

The  city  is  admirably  situated  on  the  river;  has  many 
public  squares,  gardens,  and  promenades.  The  Bruhl  Terrace 
is  a  beautiful  walk,  and  the  Belvedere  Gardens  at  the  upper 
end  are  the  pleasantest  resort  in  town.  There  are  excellent 
concerts  there  every  evening,  and  breakfast  or  dinner,  over- 
looking the  Elbe  and  the  Neustadt,  lends  an  esthetic  quality 
to  the  appetite. 

The  Picture- Gallery  is  justly  celebrated.  It  contains  the 
Madonna  di  San  Sisto — the  best  of  Raffaelle's  Virgins,  pur- 
chased over  a  century  since  for  $100,000.  In  this  painting, 
the  Madonna's  face  is  more  spiritual  and  expressive  than  in 
any  other.  It  has  a  sadness,  a  sweetness,  and  an  air  of  pensive 
resignation  you  look  for  in  vain  in  the  Raffaelles  you  see  else- 
where. Notwithstanding  the  artist's  great  reputation,  I  don't 
like  his  Madonnas.  The  Delia  Seu-o-iola  at  Rome  has  a  re- 
markably  pretty  face.  The  features  are  regular,  almost  fault- 
less, but  the  Holy  Mother  might  be  a  comely  little  wife,  fond- 
ling her  first-born,  for  all  the  picture  says  to  the  contrary. 
Others  of  his  Madonnas  are  thin,  flat,  and  hard,  in  the  manner 
of  his  master,  Perrugino.  The  eyes  of  all  of  them  are  too  far 
apart,  and  the  nose  at  the  upper  end  is  too  thick  for  beauty. 

In  the  San  Sisto  the  Christ-child  looks  startled  and  unnatu- 
ral— not  a  whit  divine.  As  to  the  Pope,  lie  is  most  unspiritual 
in  appearance ;  has  an  Irish  cast  of  countenance,  and  in  spite 
of  the  halo  about  his  head,  conveys  the  notion  that  he  has  been 
drinking  over  night,  and  has  gotten  up  without  his  morning 
cocktail.  St.  Barbara  might  be  the  copy  of  a  fashion-plate,  or 
a  lackadaisical  young  woman  dressed  for  the  opera.     One  of 


310  THE   GREEN  VAULT. 

the  cherubim  is  capital,  and  the  other  is  cross-eyed.  So  the 
great  picture  does  not  meet  the  ideal  at  all. 

For  Holbein's  Maria,  so  much  praised,  I  have  no  admira- 
tion. The  Virgin  has  a  stiff,  staring  look,  and  a  forehead  that 
might  have  been  made  for  phrenological  effect.  The  face  has 
a  Chinese  insipidity,  and  the  figure  is  not  graceful.  The  kneel- 
ing Burgomaster  is  good,  and  the  folded  carpet  exquisite. 

One  of  the  paintings  represents  the  Virgin  and  child,  and 
Lucrezia  Borgia  and  her  husband  kneeling  before  them,  in  the 
act  of  prayer.  Lucrezia  resembles  a  washed-out  blonde,  and  is 
entirely  without  character.  There  is  something  droll  in  con- 
necting Lucrezia  and  her  lord  with  the  Madonna  and  Jesus. 
I  believe  the  lady  has  been  made  angelic  of  late  by  certain 
writers,  but  she  must  have  been  rather  free  and  fast,  even  for 
her  time. 

Many  of  the  Domenichinos,  Guidos,  Correggios  and  Guer- 
cinos  are  very  good,  and  four  of  Paolo  Veronese's  large  paint- 
ings are  among  the  best  of  his  I  have  seen.  Some  of  the 
German  and  Flemish  pictures  are  fine,  and  others  have  nothing 
to  recommend  them  but  their  age.  A  few  of  Kubens'  best 
works  are  in  the  gallery,  but  the  want  of  firmness,  and  the  con- 
fusion of  outline,  which  seem  to  me  his  defects,  are  palpable 
in  his  pictures.  He  was  a  great  artist,  but  he  must  have 
wrought  carelessly,  or  have  neglected  to  finish  thoroughly  what 
he  began  so  earnestly. 

The  Green  Vault,  as  the  royal  treasury  is  styled,  from  the 
color  of  the  walls  of  the  different  cabinets,  is  one  of  the  richest 
on  the  Continent.  The  carvings,  in  ivory  and  bronze,  the 
mosaics,  the  vessels  of  jasper,  agate,  and  chalcedony,  and  fig- 
ures in  gold  and  enamel,  are  worth  hours  of  study.  The 
Fall  of  Lucifer  and  his  Angels  is  a  remarkable  work,  being 
cut  out  of  a  piece  of  solid  ivory.  Though  not  sixteen  inches 
high,  it  contains  ninety-two  figures  of  exquisite  carving,  which 
will  bear  the  minutest  inspection.  One  of  the  finest  works, 
by  Dinglinger  (lie  has  been  justly  called  the  Saxon  Benvenuto 
Cellini),  is  The  Court  of  Aurungzebe,  representing  the  Mon- 
arch on  his  throne  at   Delhi,  surrounded  by  his  guards  and 


SPLENDID  DIAMOND   COLLECTION.  311 

courtiers.  All  the  figures,  a  hundred  and  thirty-two  in  num- 
ber, are  of  gold  and  enamel.  It  is  the  prettiest  and  most 
elaborate  toy  I  remember  to  have  seen,  and  would  be  a  fit 
present  for  a  royal  baby,  for  whom  it  may  have  been  intended 
— I  use  "royal"  in  its  broad  sense,  and  I  am  sure  every 
mother,  particularly  if  she  be  a  new  mother,  will  deem  her 
infant  the  royalest  of  all.  What  an  infinite  number  of  Au- 
rungzebe  Courts  would  be  required  if  they  were  to  be  given 
to  the  finest  baby  in  the  world,  and  their  doting  mammas  were 
to  be  made  the  judges !  Ten  generations  of  Dinglingers  would 
be  needed  to  supply  the  overwhelming  demand. 

The  diamond  collection  in  the  Green  Vault  is  the  finest  in 
Europe.  Most  of  the  jewels  belonged  to  Augustus  the  Strong, 
King  of  Poland,  a  sturdy  fellow,  who  is  honored  with  statues 
there,  and  who  seems,  from  his  history,  to  have  had  a  habit 
of  taking  things  generally,  whether  they  were  women  or  cas- 
tles. He  might  have  won  many  of  the  gentler  sex  with  his 
jewels,  if  it  be  true  that  the  feminine  heart  is  attracted  to  dia- 
monds as  the  moth  to  the  candle. 

There  are  in  the  carefully-locked  cabinet,  diamond  buckles, 
diamond-hilted  swords,  diamond-studded  scabbards,  diamond 
epaulettes,  and  diamond  decorations  of  various  kinds.  There 
are  splendid  necklaces,  too,  one  of  which  contains  fifty  very 
larere  and  beautiful  stones,  the  smallest  of  which  must  be  worth 
$50,000.  The  diamonds  in  the  Vault  are  admirably  cut  and 
very  rare,  sOme  of  them  being  yellow,  claret-color,  and  green, 
which  are  more  valuable  than  the  hueless  ones.  The  entire 
collection  must  be  worth  at  least  $5,000,000  or  $6,000,000, 
perhaps  $10,000,000 ;  but,  of  course,  it  is  not  to  be  purchased. 
Since  the  Esterhazy  jewels  have  been  disposed  of,  no- court  in 
Europe  can  show  such  a  collection  as  that  at  Dresden. 

The  city  is  so  rich  in  treasures  of  art  and  science,  that  it  is 
often  called  the  German  Florence.  The  handsome  Opera 
House,  capable  of  seating  8,000  persons,  was  burned  down 
recently,  but  is  now  rebuilding.  The  suburbs  of  the  town  are 
very  picturesque.  If  I  had  to  live  in  any  German  city,  I 
should  select  Dresden. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

BERLIN. 

ERLIN,  though  one  of  the  largest  and  most 
important,  is  one  of  the  least  imposing  and 
interesting  capitals  in  Europe.  It  is  growing 
very  rapidly,  and  must  have  at  present  nearly, 
)t  quite,  700,000  people.  Two  centuries  ago  it 
of  small  importance,  consisting  of  a  number  of 
villages,  which  have  now  grown  into  each  other,  and 
form  the  different  quarters  of  the  city.  It  received  its 
first  important  improvement  from  the  great  Elector, 
Frederic  William,  who  planted  the  Unter  den  Linden;  but 
it  never  began  to  look  like  a  capital  until  Frederic  the  Great 
enclosed  a  large  space  within  the  walls,  and  built  upon  it  in 
anticipation  of  a  future  growth. 

The  unity  of  Germany  with  the  seat  of  the  Empire  at 
Berlin,  and  the  natural  results  of  the  late  war  with  France, 
will  give  a  new  stimulus  to  the  city,  and  benefit  it  greatly.  In 
a  few  years  it  will  be,  if  it  is  not  now,  the  largest  capital  on 
the  Continent,  Paris  excepted ;  for  the  only  capitals  approach- 
ing it  are  Vienna,  Naples,  and  St.  Petersburg,  omitting  Con- 
stantinople, which,  properly  speaking,  is  Eastern  in  its  charac- 
ter. The  Germans,  at  least  many  of  them,  believe  it  will  take 
the  place  of  Paris ;  but  it  never  will,  and  never  can.  With 
all  their  sterling  and  sturdy  qualities,  their  earnest  purpose  and 
power  of  accomplishment,  they  cannot  make  Berlin  the  centre 
of  civilization,  the  metropolis  of  refinement,  elegance,  and  art. 
At  least  for  generations  there  can  be  but  one  Paris,  which  is 
the  outgrowth  of  French  influences  and  French  character,  and 


SITUATION  OF  THE   CITY.  313 

incapable  of  reproduction  on  German  soil,  or  under  German 
institutions. 

Berlin  is  situated  on  a  great  sterile  plain,  on  both  sides  of  the 
river  Spree,  nothing  like  scenery  in  or  about  it.  The  climate 
is  decidedly  disagreeable,  damp,  and  chilly  in  the  spring ;  hot 
and  sultry  in  midsummer ;  raw  and  wet  in  the  autumn,  and 
very  bleak  and  cold  in  the  winter.  Probably  no  European 
capital,  Madrid  always  excepted,  is  so  unpleasant,  meteorologi- 
cally, as  Berlin ;  and  the  fine  sand  that  often  blows  from  the 
surrounding  plain,  something  after  the  manner  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, does  not  add  to  the  joys  of  the  season. 

The  best  part  of  the  city — indeed,  the  only  part  worth  at- 
tention— is  in  the  Unter  den  Linden,  between  the  Royal  Palace 
and  the  Brandenburg  Gate.  In  that  quarter  are  the  Old  and 
New  Museums,  the  Opera  House,  the  Library,  the  University, 
the  famous  statue  of  Frederic  the  Great,  and  other  bronzes  of 
merit,  the  principal  collections,  the  leading  hotels,  and  the  most 
fashionable  shops.  Many  of  the  other  streets,  as  Friedrich  and 
Wilhelm,  are  well  built ;  but  they  have  no  handsome  architect- 
ure, and  contain  nothing  remarkable.  The  city  is  regularly  laid 
out  for  the  most  part;  but  as  the  shops  and  dwellings  are 
much  alike,  it  presents  a  monotonous  appearance.  Berlin 
is  a  sort  of  Prussian  Philadelphia — more  metropolitan,  of 
course,  than  the  Pennsylvanian  checker-board — or  an  expanded 
Chicago.  You  can  see  all  you  want  of  it  in  three  of  four  days 
(I  tarried  there  eight  or  ten),  and,  once  quitting  it,  it  holds  no 
new  charm  to  bring  you  back.  I  saw  it  without  emotion :  I 
left  it  without  regret. 

The  Unter  den  Linden  I  had  heard  much  of.  I  expected 
to  find  it  handsomely  laid  out,  like  the  Champs  Ely  sees,  or  the 
Villa  Reale.  I  was  sure  it  had  walks,  and  flowers,  and  foun- 
tains, if  nothing  more.  Judge  of  my  surprise  when  I  saw 
nothing  but  rows  of  rambling,  broken,  scraggy  lindens,  in  a 
bare  rectangle  that  a  little  rain  converts  into  a  mire.  The 
place  is  unsightly,  and  the  appearance  of  the  street  would  be 
much  improved  if  the  trees  were  cut  down.  The  government 
does  not  believe  in  spending  money  for  ornamental  purposes, 


S14  COLLECTION  OF  PICTURES. 

and  is  wise  in  its  economy ;  but  I  am  of  opinion  that  a  few 
thousand  dollars  invested  in  the  Unter  den  Linden  would  be 
judicious. 

The  Museums  contain  very  good  collections,  and  would  be 
interesting  to  persons  who  had  not  visited  the  other  great  capi- 
tals. The  buildings  are  extremely  fine,  and  much  of  the  fres- 
coing on  the  outside  and  inside  is  admirable. 

The  collection  of  pictures  is  large,  but  not  choice,  though 
many  of  the  old  German  and  Flemish  paintings  are  curious. 
The  "gem"  of  the  latter  pictures,  as  it  is  called,  representing 
burgomasters  and  burgomasters'  wives  as  saints  kneeling  before 
the  Virgin,  is,  to  my  taste,  as  valuable  as  a  second-hand  grave- 
stone. There  are  in  the  gallery  six  of  the  gems  which  formerly 
adorned  the  altar-piece  of  the  Ghent  Cathedral.  There  were 
thirteen  originally ;  but  one  has  been  lost,  and  the  other  six 
were  stolen.  If  the  thief  can  be  induced  to  steal  the  remaining 
half  dozen,  he  should  be  paid  liberally ;  for  to  be  found  carry- 
ing oif  such  things  as  these  would  ruin  a  man's  reputation  for 
taste.  What  prompts  catalogue-makers  to  praise  as  great  works 
of  art  what  no  one  capable  of  distinguishing  between  a  sign- 
board and  a  Spagnoletto  would  have  on  any  terms  ? 

The  Italian  pictures,  though  some  are  by  Raffaelle,  Cor- 
reggio,  Titian,  Domenichino,  and  Guido,  seem  poor  after  one 
has  become  familiar  with  the  galleries  of  Rome  and  Florence. 
While  in  the  New  Museum  I  noticed  quite  a  crowd  before  one 
painting,  and,  thinking  it  something  rare,  I  added  myself  to 
the  group.  I  saw  that  it  was  a  large  painting  by  Giordano, 
representing  (I  quote  the  catalogue)  "  Two  Lovers  Discovered 
by  an  Old  Woman."  The  lovers  seemed  to  be  suffering  ex- 
cessively from  a  clothes  famine.  The  youth  looked  despond- 
ent ;  but  the  nymph  seemed  extremely  hopeful ;  for  she  was 
both  the  wooer  and  the  won.  A  number  of  women  were 
gazing  at  it  with  all  their  eyes,  and  I  could  not  help  overhear- 
ing one  of  them  say  in  German :  "  That  is  very  natural,"  as 
she  laughed  and  turned  away.  In  our  country  no  woman 
would  pretend  to  see  such  a  picture  in  public ;  but  we  are 
more  modest  than  those  barbarous  Europeans,  who  hold  that 
what  is  natural  is  not  necessarily  indecent. 


THE  BALLET.  315 

The  collection  of  casts,  antiques,  bronzes,  vases,  carvings  in 
wood,  silver,  and  ivory,  is  large  and  varied ;  but  it  is  much  the 
same  one  sees  all  over  Europe.  Who  cares  for  casts  of  the 
Venus,  Apollo,  Laocoon,  Wrestlers,  Discus-Thrower,  and  the 
Grinder,  when  he  knows  every  atom  of  the  originals  ?  Then 
there  are  the  unfailing  ancient  relics  and  Etruscan  vases. 
Every  museum,  from  London  to  Naples,  and  Paris  to  Pesth,  is 
tilled  with  them.  After  one  has  done  London  and  Paris,  Italy 
and  Switzerland,  the  Rhine  and  Hombourg,  his  travels  lead 
him  to  repetitions.  Then  he  has  had  life,  art,  nature,  society, 
and  fashion,  which  include  most  of  what  we  feel  interest 
in.  If  one  hungers  after  new  places,  he  may  pass  his  entire 
time  in  travel.  If  he  seeks  only  the  typical,  his  wanderings 
need  not  be  far. 

The  ballet  of  Berlin  has  a  wide  reputation ;  and  as  a 
grand  spectacle  was  advertised  at  the  Opera  House,  I  went  to 
it.  The  audience  was  large,  and  delighted.  The  men  and 
women  applauded  enthusiastically,  and  pronounced  the  enter- 
tainment one  of  the  best  the  city  had  ever  had.  But  it  really 
was  of  little  merit.  The  scenes,  costumes,  effects  and  ma- 
chinery were  far  inferior  to  what  we  have  at  home,  and  were 
completely  eclipsed  by  the  "Black  Crook"  and  "White 
Fawn."  The  dancing  was  poor.  Only  one  of  the  women  had 
skill  and  grace,  and  she  in  no  remarkable  degree.  The  ballet 
was  more  modest  and  decorous  than  it  is  in  London,  Paris,  Na- 
ples, or  New  York,  which  it  might  easily  be  without  accusation 
of  prudery.  The  Opera  House  itself  is  rather  plain,  not  equal 
to  the  opera  houses  in  New  York,  Philadelphia  or  Chicago. 

The  statue  of  Frederic  the  Great,  by  Rauch,  I  believe,  is 
the  finest  bronze  in  Europe.  The  horse  of  the  King  is  admir- 
able. You  see  the  fire,  the  quivering  nerves,  the  flashing  eye, 
the  curbed  spirit  of  the  noble  animal  through  the  metal.  He 
seems  as  if  he  would  leap  from  the  pedestal  every  moment. 
He  might  neigh  without  surprising  you,  so  life-like  is  he. 
The  figures  of  Frederic  and  his  officers  below  are  admirable. 
You  can  study  their  character  in  their  faces.  Each  has  an  in- 
dividuality ;  each  is  a  genuine  man. 


316  PARKS  AXD    GAB  DENS. 

The  Tiergarten,  the  park  and  drive  of  Berlin,  is  just  be- 
yond the  Brandenburg  Gate,  and  about  two  or  three  miles 
long.  It  is  pleasant,  for  it  contains  a  number  of  natural  trees 
and  shadv  walks,  but  it  is  not  laid  out  with  anv  care  or  ex- 
pense.  It  is  full  of  public  resorts,  such  as  shooting  galleries, 
ten-pin  alleys  (a  favorite  amusement  with  the  Germans),  drink- 
ing-halls,  cheap  shows,  and  beer-gardens. 

The  largest  and  best  of  the  gardens  is  Kroll's,  dignified  by 
the  name  of  an  "  establishment,"  where  there  is  a  theatre,  a 
concert-room,  and  a  varietv  of  entertainments.  When 
lighted  in  the  evening  it  looks  brilliant,  and  is  gorgeous  for  a 
German  resort.  They  have  good  music  and  bad  beer  there 
everv  night,  and  hundreds  of  the  citizens  visit  it,  and  derive 
more  satisfaction  from  spending  a  few  groschen  than  a  Yan- 
kee would  in  wasting  a  hundred  dollars. 

I  cannot  understand  how  the  Continentalists  get  so  much 
out  of  so  little.  Contentment  is  more  a  thing  of  temperament, 
than  circumstance,  and  our  people  have  not  the  secret.  We 
make  a  great  deal  of  noise,  and  are  very  extravagant  and  de- 
monstrative in  our  pleasures,  but  after  all,  we  are  the  most 
melancholy  nation  under  the  sun. 

The  Berlin  hotels  I  have  heard  highly  praised ;  but  they 
are  not  such  as  I  could  conscientiously  recommend.  In  accord- 
ance with  my  rule,  I  went  to  the  best — at  least  the  highest 
priced — and  did  not  like  it.  I  changed  to  two  others — one  of 
them,  the  St.  Petersburg,  where  General  Yon  Moltke  boards 
when  at  home — and  thev  were  no  more  satisfactory.  The 
truth  is,  not  a  really  excellent  public  house,  judging  by  the 
American  standard,  is  to  be  found  in  all  Germany  ;  but  Teu- 
tonic tastes  and  notions  of  luxury  are  very  different  from  ours. 
When  the  Germans  are  delighted,  we  carp  and  complain. 

The  city  is  surrounded  by  a  wall,  and  entered  by  sixteen 
gates,  the  chief  of  which,  the  Brandenburg,  is  of  great  size, 
surmounted  by  a  bronze  figure  of  Yictory  in  a  car  drawn  by 
four  horses,  excellently  done.  Berlin  is  ten  or  twelve  miles  in 
circumference,  and  occupies  some  seven  thousand  acres.  Its 
principal   divisions   are  Berlin  proper ;  old  and  new  Cologne, 


SELF-IXFLA  TIOX.  317 

on  the  Spree ;  Louisenstadt,  on  the  south ;  Friedrichstadt,  on 
the  southwest ;  Friedrichswerden,  between  old  and  new 
Cologne  and  Friedrichstadt ;  Neustadt,  between  Friedrichstadt 
and  the  Spree ;  Friedrich  Wilhelmstadt  (built  in  1828),  and 
the  suburbs  of  Stralhau,  Spandau,  Konigstadt,  Oranienburg 
and  Potsdam.  The  Spree  (an  insignificant  stream),  and  its 
branches,  are  crossed  by  forty  bridges,  notable  among  them 
the  Long  Bridge,  with  an  equestrian  statue  of  the  great 
Elector  Frederic  William ;  the  Palace  Bridge,  with  groups  of 
heroes  in  marble,  and  Frederic's  Bridge,  made  of  iron,  and 
having  eight  arches. 

Since  their  great  military  successes,  the  Prussians  are  not  as 
agreeable  as  they  used  to  be.  "Without  the  formal  and  external 
politeness  of  the  Latin  races,  their  newly-acquired  glory,  and 
their  naturally  increased  self-love  have  rendered  them  inclined 
at  times  to  swagger  and  be  insolent.  "When  quite  accus- 
tomed to  their  greatness,  they  will  tone  down,  and  be  more 
self-contained.  They  are  brave,  and  strong,  and  great,  as  are 
all  the  Germans,  and  have  achieved  so  much  in  art,  literature, 
science,  and  arms,  that  we  can  easily  forgive  their  excessive 
self-felicitation  in  the  early  consciousness  and  flush  of  their 
splendid  triumphs. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

BISMARCK. 

>ARL  OTTO  YON  BISMARCK,  born  at 
Schoenhausen,  April  1,  1814,  belongs  to  a 
noble  and  ancient  family,  which  dates  back  to 
the  chieftains  of  a  Slavic  tribe.  His  mother 
is  said  to  have  been  a  very  superior  woman, 
much  above  her  husband  in  understanding,  culture, 
and  character.  She  was  ambitious,  too ;  and  to  her 
he  owes  the  peculiar  training  which  has  had  so  much 
to  do  with  his  power  and  fame.  He  was  educated  at 
Gottingen,  Griefswald,  and  Berlin,  and,  as  a  student,  was 
noted  for  his  sad  scrapes  and  wild  orgies.  Though  he  often 
studied  hard,  and  developed  talents  of  a  high  order,  he  was 
constantly  involved  in  some  sort  of  trouble.  To-day  it  was  a 
drinking  bout ;  to-morrow,  a  horse  ridden  to  death ;  Monday 
it  was  a  quarrel ;  Tuesday,  an  unfortunate  gallantry ;  and 
Wednesday,  a  duel.  In  spite  of  his  high  spirits  and  rollicking 
pleasures,  he  was  subject  to  fits  of  melancholy,  during  which 
he  became  so  morose  and  irritable  that  his  classmates  stood  in 
fear  of,  and  kept  away  from  him.  He  was  so  variable  in  his 
moods,  and  so  extreme  in  his  feelings,  that  he  was  often 
charged  with  insanity.  He  left  college  with  anything  but  a 
reputation  for  good  morals,  and  yet  he  soon  after  became  en- 
amoured of  a  modest  and  worthy  maiden,  Fraulein  Yon  Putz- 
kammer,  who  returned  his  affection  with  all  the  ardor  of  her 
nature.  Her  parents  did  not  regard  him  as  a  very  desirable 
son-in-law ;  but  he  wooed  their  daughter  with  such  energy 
and  audacity  that  they  could  not  refuse  him  her  hand.     He 


HIS  SUCCESS  AS  A   DIPLOMATIST.  319 

first  entered  upon  a  military  career,  having  joined  the  light 
infantry,  and  afterward  becoming  a  lieutenant  in  the  land- 
wehr.  He  soon  discovered,  however,  and  his  friends  did  also, 
that  he  was  better  adapted  to  politics  than  the  army.  He  was 
chosen  member  of  the  Diet  of  the  Province  of  Saxony,  in 
1846 ;  and  in  the  following  year,  of  the  General  Diet,  where 
he  made  himself  known  by  his  skill  in  argument,  and  the 
boldness  and  brilliancy  of  his  speeches.  He  contended,  it  is 
said,  that  all  the  large  cities  should  be  swept  from  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  because  they  are  the  centres  of  democracy  and 
of  constitutional  law,  and  his  subsequent  conduct  does  not 
seem  to  have  modified  his  extreme  views. 

Bismarck's  diplomatic  career  dates  from  1851.  His  course 
in  the  second  chamber  of  Parliament  had  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  King  Frederic  William  IV.,  and  the  legation  of  Frank- 
fort was  at  that  time  so  delicate  and  difficult  a  position  that 
it  was  entrusted  to  his  charge.  A  rising  man  and  a  royal  favo- 
rite, he  was  received  somewhat  coldly  in  the  city  to  which  he 
had  been  appointed,  but  was  not  long  in  exacting  courtesy  and 
inspiring  esteem  from  all  wTith  whom  he  came  in  contact.  As 
an  instance  of  his  mode  of  dealing  with  men,  this  anecdote  is 
told  :  Bismarck,  on  arrival,  made  a  visit  of  ceremony  to  Count 
Thun,  a  prominent  official.  The  Count,  upon  the  entrance  of 
the  diplomate,  neither  rose  from  his  seat  nor  offered  one  to  his 
visitor,  but  sat  in  a  state  of  supreme  indifference,  blowing 
clouds  of  smoke  from  his  cigar.  Bismarck,  without  seeming 
to  notice  the  rudeness,  took  a  cigar  from  his  own  pocket,  and, 
politely  asking  the  Count  for  a  light,  drew  up  a  chair,  and, 
sitting  down  without  invitation,  assumed  the  most  nonchalant 
air  imaginable.  He  then  began  to  patronize  the  nobleman  in 
a  manner  the  latter  could  not  fail  to  perceive,  but  could  find 
no  pretence  to  resent. 

Bismarck  regarded  Austria,  from  the  beginning  of  his 
career,  as  the  antagonist  of  Prussia,  and  as  a  source  of  danger 
to  Germany.  Consequently,  he  was  sent,  in  1852,  to  Yienna, 
where  he  proved  a  constant  adversary  to  Count  Kechberg,  and 
a  perpetual  thwarter  of  all  his  plans.     Six  years  later,  a  cele- 


320  GERMAN  UNITY  A  FIXED  IDEA. 

brated  pamphlet,  "Prussia  and  the  Italian  Question,"  was 
published  anonymously  ;  but  the  authorship  was  attributed  to 
Bismarck,  for  the  reason  that  it  advocated  the  policy  he  had 
always  sustained.  The  writer  of  the  brochure,  recalling  the 
old  antagonism  of  Prussia  and  Austria,  supported,  with  much 
ability  and  zeal,  the  idea  of  a  triple  alliance  between  France, 
Prussia,  and  Russia,  as  a  means  of  insuring,  beyond  question, 
German  unity  by  the  supremacy  of  Prussia. 

Early  in  1859,  Bismarck  was  appointed  ambassador  to  St. 
Petersburg.  He  remained  there  for  three  years,  gaining  the 
esteem  and  confidence  of  the  Czar,  who  conferred  upon  him 
the  order  of  St.  Alexander  Newski.  The  Empress  mother  re- 
ceived him  with  particular  marks  of  friendship,  and  made  him 
almost  a  member  of  the  imperial  family.  At  the  Russian  capi- 
tal, for  the  first  time,  his  robust  constitution  yielded  to  disease. 
He  suffered  particularly  from  inflammatory  rheumatism,  which 
reduced  him  to  a  state  of  complete  helplessness,  and  made  him 
look  like  the  ghost  of  his  former  self.  His  serious  ill  health 
forced  him  to  ask  leave  of  absence,  and  he  returned  home  with 
little  hope  of  ultimate  recovery.  So  anxious  was  he,  how- 
ever, to  go  back  to  Russia,  that  he  set  out  from  Berlin  before 
he  was  convalescent,  and,  falling  dangerously  ill  on  the  jour- 
ney, was  forced  to  surrender  his  mission. 

As  soon  as  fully  recovered,  he  was  sent  as  ambassador  to 
Paris,  his  appointment  having  been  very  favorably  received, 
both  by  his  own  government  and  that  of  France.  He  received 
from  Napoleon  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  but  had 
been  in  his  new  position  only  a  short  time  when  the  dissen- 
sions in  the  Prussian  Parliament,  on  account  of  the  army 
budget,  caused  him  to  be  recalled,  and  to  be  chosen  President 
of  the  Council  of  Ministers,  with  the  two  portfolios  of  the 
house  of  the  King  and  of  Foreign  Affairs.  The  situation  was 
a  very  grave  one.  He  was  not  able,  great  as  were  his  efforts, 
to  overcome  the  resistance  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  which 
was  opposed  to  the  military  reorganization,  because  its  ten- 
dency was  to  weaken  the  landwehr.  The  budget  was  rejected 
by  the  Deputies,  and  Bismarck,  in  the  name  of  the  King,  dis- 


COUNT  OTTO  VON  BISMARCK. 


THE  BULLY  OF  EUROPE.  321 

solved  the  Chamber,  and  proceeded  with  great  severity  against 
the  persons  and  journals  opposed  to  his  official  conduct.  He 
protested,  early  in  1863,  against  the  address  the  Deputies  had 
presented  to  the  King,  accusing  him  of  violating  the  con- 
stitution. In  nothing  has  he  shown  himself  to  be  on  the  side 
of,  or  in  sympathy  with,  the  people.  He  is  a  born  aristocrat  in 
the  sense  in  which  the  word  is  used  abroad — an  advocate  of 
powrer,  and  privilege,  and  caste,  in  opposition  to  the  popular 
•will,  and  the  rights  and  elevation  of  the  masses.  "Wherever 
there  has  been  a  contest  between  the  throne  and  its  subjects, 
Bismarck  has  been  the  supporter  of  the  throne ;  and,  though 
he  has  been  admired  and  praised  by  his  countrymen  for  his 
extraordinary  ability  and  success,  he  has  ever  arrayed  himself 
against  the  advance  of  republican  principles  and  liberal  ideas. 
From  his  first  entry  into  public  life  he  has  bent  his  mind  to 
the  establishment  of  German  unity.  To  this  end  he  made  an 
unjust  and  aggressive  war,  with  the  aid  of  Austria,  against 
poor  little  Denmark,  exhibiting  to  the  civilized  world  the  spec- 
tacle of  two  strong,  national  bullies  falling  upon  a  weak  and 
unoffending  neighbor,  and  robbing  him  under  the  high-sound- 
ing pretext  of  the  necessity  of  homogeneity.  Austria — to  her 
credit  be  it  said — was  very  unwilling  to  enter  into  the  alliance, 
and  would  not  have  done  so,  had  she  not  been  dragooned  into 
it  by  Bismarck,  who  certainly  deserves  the  name  of  the  hector 
ahd  bully  of  Europe. 

~No  sooner  was  the  Danish  spoliation  complete,  than  Bis- 
marck turned  his  attention  to  Austria ;  made  war  upon  her, 
in  a  few  weeks  drove  her  armies  on  every  field,  and  placed  her 
in  the  position  of  an  humble  and  abject  suppliant.  The  House 
of  Hapsburg  had  always  been  so  indolent  and  haughty,  that 
little  sympathy  was  wasted  upon  it.  Prussia's  injustice  was 
forgotten  in  the  satisfaction  felt  at  Austria's  abasement.  The 
battle  of  Sadowa  closed  the  contest ;  but  it  would  have  gone 
on  to  Austria's  greater  discomfiture  and  deeper  humiliation,  if 
France  had  not  interfered,  and  Bismarck  had  not  been  alarmed 
at  the  prospect  of  a  new  and  formidable  alliance  against  his 
government.  Louis  Napoleon,  in  a  speech  to  the  French 
21 


322  REVENGE    UPON  NAPOLEON. 

Chambers,  declared  with  much  truth:  "I  have  arrested  the 
conqueror  at  the  gates  of  Vienna." 

Bismarck  has  now  revenged  himself  upon  Louis  Napoleon 
by  upsetting  his  throne  and  undoing  his  Empire.  For  years 
he  had  regarded  Napoleon  as  his  most  formidable  rival — the 
only  man  able  to  hold  his  ambitious  designs  in  check.  Having 
broken  the  power  of  his  rival,  and  hurled  him  prostrate  in  the 
dust,  he  naturally  rejoices  in  the  undisputed  mastership  of  the 
Continental  field. 

The  Minister  of  William  I.,  though  great,  cannot  be  called 
handsome.  He  is  so  remarkable,  however,  in  appearance,  that 
to  see  him  once  is  to  remember  him.  His  features  are  large  and 
irregular,  and  his  strikingly  strong  face  is  deeply  marked  and 
furrowed  by  lines.  He  is  tall,  heavy-set,  raw-boned.  His 
eyes  are  deep  and  penetrating,  his  nose  defiant,  and  his  mouth 
a  type  of  firmness.  Naturally  haughty  and  passionate,  he  has 
learned  the  diplomatic  need  of  self-control,  and  can,  when  there 
is  occasion,  be  as  bland  and  courteous  as  if  he  revered  other 
opinions  than  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


POTSDAM. 

HE  famous  city  of  Potsdam,  I  should  sup- 
pose, might  have  been  called  after  the  pots 
or  tiles  that  cover  the  roofs,  though  red  tiles 
mark  most  of  the  houses  throughout  North- 
ern Germany.  Potsdam  is  quite  imposing, 
with  its  domes  and  spires,  and  fine  buildings, 
and  makes  a  more  favorable  impression  through  the  eye  than 
Berlin  itself. 

Potsdam,  as  everybody  knows,  was  the  favorite  residence 
of  Frederic  II.,  third  king  of  Prussia,  distinguished  in  history 
as  Frederic  the  Great.  To  him  it  owes  its  metropolitan  ap- 
pearance and  handsomest  structures.  He  is  buried  in  a  large 
church ;  an  elaborate  but  not  showy  monument,  marking 
his  grave.  Frederic  was  a  philosopher,  and  regarded  death 
very  rationally,  neither  to  be  sought  nor  avoided,  save  for  suf- 
ficient reason.  But  he  was  one  of  the  men  who  would  have 
liked  to  live  longer,  if  he  could  have  preserved  his  youth  and 
his  faculties.  He  had  so  many  capacities,  such  an  insatiable 
ambition,  such  grand  schemes,  and  such  little  weaknesses,  such 
a  perfect  lust  for  dominion,  such  a  number  of  unfulfilled  pur- 
poses, that  centuries  of  existence  would  have  been  sweet  to 
him. 

If  the  world  to  come  be  purely  spiritual,  I  can't  conceive 
how  Frederic  can  be  satisfied  there ;  for  he,  even  more  than 
Bonaparte,  was  a  secular  spirit,  having  all  his  being  through  a 
gratified  vanity,  and  a  mad  passion  for  power.  It  would  de- 
light his  soul  to  revisit  this  planet  and  see  what  a  name  and 


324  FREDERIC  THE   GREAT. 

fame  he  left  behind :  how  Prussia  had  become  all  Germany ; 
how  its  present  is  associated  with  him  and  his,  and  how  his 
great  qualities  have  been  remembered  and  exaggerated,  and 
his  wretchedly  small  ones  forgotten. 

Some  may  think  it  a  compensation  he  died  too  soon  to 
read  Carlyle's  work ;  but  the  German-English  apotheosis  by 
the  one-sided  Scotchman  would  have  charmed  Frederic  be- 
yond measure.  He  would  have  written  a  letter,  in  limping 
French,  to  the  author,  and  have  invited  him  to  Potsdam. 
Carlyle  would  not  have  gone,  and  the  royal  tyrant  would  have 
thrown  him  into  prison  for  disobedience  of  orders. 

I  suspect  Frederic  would  set  Bismarck  aside  if  he  were  to 
come  again,  for  the  minister  would  not  be  quite  as  necessary 
to  him  as  to  kaiser  William.  But  as  there  are  no  return 
tickets  from  the  station  where  the  great  king  and  little  man 
got  off,  he  no  doubt  approves  of  Bismarck's  rule  during  his 
own  protracted  absence. 

Comparatively  few  persons  remember  that  Frederic,  the 
great-great-uncle  of  the  present  monarch,  sympathized  with  us 
in  our  early  struggle  with  England ;  that  he  levied  the  same 
tax  upon  the  Hessians  the  British  hired  to  make  war  upon  the 
American  colonies,  when  they  passed  through  his  dominions, 
that  he  did  upon  cattle  bought  and  sold;  and  that  he  sent  a 
eword  to  George  Washington,  with  the  words:  "From  the 
oldest  general  in  the  world  to  the  greatest." 

Frederic,  though  he  wrote  thirty  or  forty  volumes  of  prose 
and  verse  in  French,  which  he  always  preferred  to  German,  he 
never  learned  to  spell  or  write  French  correctly.  With  all  his 
power  and  wealth,  he  had  during  the  latter  years  of  his  life 
but  one  good  suit  of  clothes,  and  when  he  died,  having  no  de- 
cent shirt  to  be  buried  in,  one  was  borrowed  for  the  purpose 
from  his  valet  de  chambre. 

No  traveller  who  visits  Berlin  should  neglect  Potsdam. 
Many  do  so,  and  regret  it  afterward.  There  is  more-  to  see 
than  in  the  capital,  and  a  day  or  two  passed  in  the  town  gives 
an  insight  into  one  of  the  most  curious  and  inconsistent  char- 
acters history  has  furnished.     Frederic  was  a  striking  instance 


NOTED  PALACES.  325 

of  development.  He  expanded  with  circumstance  and  rose 
with  the  occasion.  He  ran  away  in  terror  from  his  first  battle, 
and  yet  became  one  of  the  most  courageous  of  men.  Think 
of  him  in  action  with  a  copy  of  his  bad  verses  in  one  pocket 
and  a  phial  of  poison  in- the  other,  determined,  in  the  event  of 
losing  his  cause,  to  destroy  himself ! 

The  different  palaces  are  the  chief  attraction,  and  every 
tourist  inspects  them  as  a  matter  of  duty.  There  are  Baals- 
berg,  the  summer  residence  of  the  reigning  king ;  the  Marble 
Palace,  belonging  to  the  crown  prince ;  the  New  Palace,  occu- 
pied by  Frederic  the  Great  (called  new  because  erected  after 
Sans  Souci) ;  Sans  Souci  itself,  and  the  Orangery. 

Baalsberg  I  went  all  through,  and  think  it  the  most  cheer- 
ful royal  chateau  in  Europe.  It  looks  like  a  place  to  live  in : 
has  an  air  of  comfort,  peace,  and  rest.  It  is  not  as  the  Eng- 
lish, French  and  Italian  palaces  are,  all  color,  gilt  and  embroid- 
ery, but  no  more  fit  for  a  dwelling  than  a  gown  of  gold  for  a 
nightrobe.  The  chateau  is  plainly  furnished,  but  in  excellent 
taste  ;  has  some  pretty  pictures,  bronzes  and  marbles,  a  number 
of  books  (Frederic's  complete  works  among  them) — of  course 
they  are  in  all  the  Prussian  palaces — and  every  convenience 
one  would  desire.  The  grounds  about  it  are  beautifully  laid 
out.  The  balconies  command  fine  views,  and  the  situation, 
near  the  Havel,  which  expands  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood into  a  lake,  is  delightful.  Baalsberg  is  just  such  a  place 
as  a  gentleman  of  taste  and  means  would  like  Jto  own.  The 
cabinets,  bed-chambers,  music  and  reception  rooms,  are  all  in 
perfect  harmony,  and  so  inviting  one  dislikes  to  quit  them. 

The  Marble  Palace,  much  more  brick  than  marble,  by  the 
bye,  is  rather  old-fashioned,  and  some  of  its  furniture  well 
worn ;  but  still  it  is  so  unpretending  and  easy,  that  it  is 
preferable  to  all  the  satin  and  gilt  of  Versailles  and  Windsor 
Castle.  The  marbles  (modern)  are  excellent,  and  tastefully 
arranged. 

At  Potsdam  I  was  reminded  of  how  difficult  it  is  to  elicit 
any  information  from  a  stupid  person.  I  admired  a  Yenus 
particularly,  and  inquired  of  the  custodian  the  name  of  the 


326  A  31  OB  EL   OF  STUPIDITY. 

sculptor.  I  am  sure  my  German  was  correct,  as  far  as  it  went, 
which  may  be  the  reason  he  did  not  understand  clearly,  and 
the  dialogue  ran  very  much  in  this  wise : 

"  Who  carved  that  Yenus  yonder  ? " 

"  Yes ;  that  is  Yenus." 

"  I  know  that  very  well ;  but  who  carved  it ;  who  was  the 
sculptor,  the  artist,  that  made  it?" 

"  O  yes,  it  was  made." 

"  Of  course  it  was  made ;  you  don't  suppose  I  thought  it 
grew.  What  is  the  name  of  the  maker  of  that  statue  of 
Yenus  % " 

"Yes,  sir;  that  is  so." 

(After  a  few  minutes  necessary  to  collect  patience,  and  in 
the  blandest  tones),  "  Your  remark  is  very  correct ;  but  will  you 
be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  who  carved,  cut,  made  this  marble 
(putting  my  hand  on  it)  statue  of  Yenus?" 

"  Certainly,  sir  (a  ray  of  what  I  conceived  to  be  intelli- 
gence falling  at  last  upon  his  benighted  mind) ;  that  is  from 
Rome ! " 

"  But  you  don't  understand  me,  my  good  fellow." 

"  O  yes ;  that  is  good,  very  good." 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Try  to  tell  me,  if  you  please,  what 
sculptor,  artist,  made  this  statue  here  on  which  my  hand  rests." 

"  O  yes ;  that  pleases  everybody.     It  is  very  nice." 

"  But  who  made  it  ? "  (And  I  imitated  the  motion  of 
chiselling  in  the  completest  manner.)     "  Who  did  like  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes ;  that  is  Yenus." 

I  saw  the  fellow  was  going  back  to  the  starting  point ;  that 
I  had  circumnavigated  the  sphere  of  his  intelligence,  and  that 
there  were  no  undiscovered  lands  of  perception  in  his  mental 
world.  I  threw  up  the  white  flag,  and  marched  on  in  silence. 
I  had  been  desirous  to  know  who  made  the  statue ;  but  after 
meeting  the  custodian,  I  wondered  who  the  devil  made  him — 
the  latter  work  was  unquestionably  a  failure. 

The  New  Palace,  also  in  the  centre  of  beautiful  grounds,  has 
a  crystal  saloon,  which  is  as  original  as  beautiful.  The  walls 
are  made  of  shells,  crystals,  agate,  chalcedony,  onyx,  amethyst, 


FREDERICKS  APARTMENTS.  327 

topaz,  and  other  stones.  They  are  fastened  by  stucco,  and 
framed  in  figures  like  frescos.  One  of  the  largest  amethysts 
known  was  found  by  Humboldt,  and  presented  to  the  late 
Frederic  William  IV.,  who  placed  it  in  the  corner  of  a 
column.  The  size  of  the  amethyst  must  be  eight  or  ten 
inches  in  diameter.  When  the  saloon  is  lighted  at  night  the 
effect  is  beautiful.  It  glitters  like  a  gigantic  cluster  diamond, 
and  is  perfectly  dazzling. 

The  apartments  Frederic  occupied  are  kept  very  nearly  in 
the  order  in  which  he  left  them  ;  much  of  the  old  furniture  re- 
maining, lie  was  greatly  inclined  to  this  palace,  and  after  the 
close  of  the  Seven  Years  War,  spent  vast  sums  in  decorating 
and  fitting  it  up  to  suit  his  taste.  His  inkstands,  pens,  auto- 
graph letters,  some  of  his  sketches  and  verses  are  preserved. 
His  private  theatre,  too,  of  which  he  was  so  fond,  stands  un- 
changed, except  the  new  decorations.  There  Yoltaire's  plays 
were  performed,  and  some  of  the  King's,  also.  There  many  of 
the  cleverest  men  of  his  time — Frederic  had  a  weakness  for 
persons  of  genius — have  sat  and  applauded,  and  criticised.  In 
the  other  apartments  splendid  fetes  were  given ;  Yoltaire 
sitting  at  the  monarch's  right  hand,  and  keeping  Frederic  in 
the  finest  spirits  by  the  sallies  of  his  caustic  wit.  Charming 
women,  now  forgotten,  drank  wine  and  flirted  at  the  royal 
board.  In  the  ballroom  many  a  splendid  company  assembled, 
and  the  hours  were  chased  away  with  voluptuous  dissipation 
and  luxurious  revelry. 

While  roaming  through  the  Palace,  I  could  not  forget  the 
silly  quarrels  of  Frederic  and  Yoltaire,  after  their  long  inti- 
macy. They  wrangled  over  the  merest  trifles;  had  high 
words  about  bits  of  sugar  and  fragments  of  candles,  and  out- 
did vulgar  old  women  in  their  petty  criminations  and  recrimi- 
nations. They  are  on  a  level  now ;  but  if  they  can  get  near 
each  other  in  the  spirit-land,  they  will  have  their  likings  and 
dislikings,  their  sympathies  and  antipathies,  over  and  over 
again,  through  all  eternity. 

The  Orangery  (so  called,  I  presume,  because  it  has  a  num- 
ber of  orange-trees  planted  in  tubs   and  set  in  the  summer 


328  SANS  SOUCI. 

sunshine),  is  a  very  attractive  place,  and  is  intended  for  a  gal- 
lery of  art.  Good  copies  of  all  of  Raffaelle's  paintings  are 
there  already,  and  some  fine  marbles  by  Thorwaldsen  and 
others.  The  grounds,  like  all  the  palace  grounds,  are  beautiful, 
and  seem  more  southern  than  northern,  with  their  luxuriant  veg- 
etation. I  have  found  no  gardens  superior  to  those  of  Potsdam, 
and  yet  they  are  almost  entirely  the  eifect  of  art.  The  ex- 
pense of  their  creation  must  have  been  enormous,  but  the 
money  was  well  invested.  No  gardens  in  Italy  are  superior  to 
these,  and  Versailles  is  not  so  elaborate  nor  so  varied  as  the 
miles  of  flowers,  grotto  and  fountain  landscape  stretching  along 
the  picturesque  Havel. 

Sans  Souci,  so  familiar  to  every  one  acquainted  with 
Frederic's  time,  is  a  popular  place  of  pilgrimage.  The  Queen 
Dowager  has  her  home  there,  I  believe  ;  but  persons  are  often 
admitted.  The  palace  is  in  much  the  same  condition  as  during 
the  monarch's  life,  barring  the  wear  and  tear  of  years.  Nu- 
merous mementos  are  presented  of  the  great  Captain,  among 
others  the  watch  he  had  carried  so  long,  and  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  winding  up  regularly.  By  a  strange  coincidence,  it 
stopped  at  the  moment  of  Frederic's  death,  which  has  given 
countless  opportunities  of  tracing  an  intimate  connection  be- 
tween the  material  and  spiritual  world. 

The  extensive  gardens,  improving  still,  are  really  magnif- 
icent. The  large  fountain  and  the  smaller  fountains,  the 
statues,  lakes,  conservatories,  bowers  and  walks,  make  one  feel 
like  staying  there  to  enjoy  all  the  beauties  set  forth.  The 
Palace  is  comparatively  plain,  which  pleases  me.  If  a  man 
have  a  comfortable  dwelling,  he  shows  good  taste  in  expending 
his  surplus  in  ornamenting  his  grounds. 

The  old  mill  of  Sans  Souci,  famous  in  verse  and  prose,  still 
stands  near  the  Palace.  The  old  miller  who  would  not  sell  his 
property  to  the  King,  left  it  to  his  sons,  and  it  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  the  third  generation.  Ordinarily,  Frederic  would 
have  thrust  the  stubborn  miller  into  prison,  and  burned  his 
mill ;  but  the  audacity  of  the  old  man  delighted  the  King,  and 
made  him  generous. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


THE   GERMAN   GAMBLING    SPAS. — BADEN-BADEN. 

CENICALLY,  Baden-Baden  is  almost  all  that 
is  to  be  desired ;  morally,  it  is  almost  all  that 
is  not  to   be   desired.     It   is  in   the   Grand 
Duchy  of  Baden,  sixteen  miles  southwest  of  Carls- 
rulie.     A  punster  might  show  his  talent  for  tor- 
turing words  in  the  title  of  the  place,  with  more 
reason  than  is  his  wont ;  for  all  degrees  of  badness 
are  to  be  found  at  the  fashionable  gambling  place 
so  delightfully  situated  in  the  valley  of  the  Oos. 

Neither  in  the  Old  World  nor  in  the  New,  have  I  any 
knowledge  of  so  charming  an  inland  summer  resort.  It  is  a 
poem  in  point  of  topography,  and  Nature  and  blacklegs  have 
done  all  that  lay  in  their  power  to  render  it  attractive.  It  re- 
calls Heidelberg  and  Freiburg  (they  are  all  in  the  Duchy  of 
Baden),  by  the  beauty  of  its  position  and  the  magnificence  of 
its  surroundings,  with  the  added  fascination  to  pleasure-seek- 
ers, of  a  crowded  and  checkered  company. 

The  town  has  but  seven  or  eight  thousand  inhabitants,  and 
they  and  their  vulgar  life  are  entirely  separated  from  what  is 
politely  termed  the  bathing  population  by  the  Oos,  which 
would  be  mistaken  for  a  sewer,  if  its  slight  waters  were  not  so 
limpid  and  so  sweet.  At  the  entrance  of  the  Black  Forest  (so 
intimately  associated,  in  German  romances,  with  sentimental 
highwaymen  and  dreadful  deeds  without  a  name),  and  over- 
looked by  such  green  and  beautifully  wooded  mountains  as 
skirt  the  Lake  of  Como,  Baden-Baden  seems,  during  the  sum- 
mer, to  sleep  in  perfect  peace,  and  to  be  dreaming,  under  the 


330  TEE  DIRECTION. 

t 

soft  sunshine,  of  the  loveliness  of  all  created  things.  No  one 
would  imagine,  who  saw  it  from  the  tower  of  the  ruined  castle 
perched  upon  a  lofty  hill,  that  in  the  handsome  building  so 
pleasantly  sheltered  in  the  valley  far  below,  the  worst  passions 
of  human  nature  were  aroused  and  kept  in  play  by  the  vice  of 
gambling. 

At  this  famous  Spa  a  great  effort  is  certainly  made  to  put  a 
fine  mask  on  a  hideous  face,  and  to  distract  the  mind  from  the 
fact  that  gambling  is  the  black  centre  about  which  this  gilded 
wheel  revolves.  There  is  the  frescoed  Pump-room  or  Trink- 
halle,  with  its  handsome  portico,  where  you  can  swallow  as 
much  hot  water  as  you  like,  at  the  price  of  a  few  kreutzers  to 
the  h^ienic  Hebe  who  dispenses  discomfort  by  the  glass. 
There  is  the  delightful  promenade  in  front  of  the  Conversa- 
tions-haus  (so  styled,  I  suppose,  because  no  one  talks  there), 
and  the  pleasant  cafe,  where  everything  is  good  but  what  you 
eat  and  drink.  There  is  the  expensive  theatre,  and  the  grace- 
ful Pfarrkirche,  where  you  may  see  plays  or  hear  prayers. 
There  is  the  old  Cemetery,  with  the  statue  of  a  grave-digger 
on  a  lofty  pedestal,  probably  to  suggest  to  bankrupt  gamesters 
that  they  still  have  one  friend  left.  There  are  also  representa- 
tions of  Christ  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  a  relief  of  His 
head  on  a  grave-cloth  at  the  gateway.  There  is  the  romantic 
ruin  of  the  ancient  castle,  the  old  seat  of  the  Margraves,  with 
its  magnificent  panorama  of  the  Rhine  Yalley  from  Worms  to 
Strasbourg. 

Surely,  there  is  no  taint  of  gambling  in  any  of  those. 
Rotdette  and  Trente-et-Quarante  may,  after  all,  be  merely 
complements  to  the  circle  of  pleasures  which  must  be  estab- 
lished at  such  places.  "The  Direction"  is  a  benevolent,  as 
well  as  generous,  body,  that  seeks  the  happiness  of  society, 
and  makes  a  little  Eden  down  in  this  quiet  valley,  to  effect  its 
purpose. 

Let  us  go  into  the  Conversations-haus,  reader.  You  may 
not  have  been  there  before,  and  I  will  act  as  your  cicerone  on 
the  occasion.  At  the  main  door  of  the  palatial  building,  look- 
ing from  a  spacious  colonnade  upon  a  shady  alley — the  bazaar 


TREXTE-ET-QUARAXTE.  331 

of  the  Spa — and  a  broad  promenade,  are  half  a  dozen  soldiers 
and  uniformed  lackeys,  the  latter  to  receive  hats,  canes,  and 
umbrellas,  and  the  former  to  prevent  such  unseemly  exhibi- 
tions as  desperate  men  sometimes  indulge  in,  even  at  Baden. 
We  can  go  in  without  questioning,  without  leaving  cane  or 
umbrella,  though  courtesy  demands  we  should  remove  our  hat, 
out  of  respect  to  the  deity  who  is  worshipped  there. 

The  saloon  we  enter  is  very  large  and  very  showy.  The 
walls,  hung  with  mirrors,  are  gilded  and  frescoed  most  elabo- 
rately, and  crimson  velvet  seats  are  ranged  all  around.  A 
number  of  persons  are  sitting  there  quietly,  almost  listlessly, 
while  on  one  side  is  a  group  of  well-dressed  people,  deeply  in- 
terested in  something  we  cannot  see. 

Several  men,  clad  in  knee-breeches  and  silk  stockings,  blue 
coats  with  gilt  buttons,  and  long,  embroidered  vests,  might  be 
mistaken,  by  the  uninitiated,  for  high  dignitaries,  so  much  does 
their  costume  resemble  a  court  dress.  They  are  merely  ser- 
vants, whose  duty  it  is  to  attend  to  the  wants  of  the  players. 

The  group  of  well-dressed  men  and  women  surround  a 
table,  on  which  there  is  a  great  deal  of  gold  and  silver  coin, 
with  a  few  bank  notes.  There  are  four  calm-looking  fellows, 
soberly  dressed,  who  rake  in  or  push  out  the  coin  on  the  table 
every  few  seconds,  but  are  usually  very  taciturn.  They  are 
the  croupiers. 

There  is  a  fifth  person,  in  a  high  chair,  overlooking  the 
game.  He  is  the  chief,  who  sees  that  the  gamesters  are  po- 
litely and  properly  served,  and  who  settles  all  disputes  between 
the  bank  and  its  patrons.  A  sixth  individual  deals  the  cards 
— the  game  is  Trente-et-Quarante — and  announces  the  result, 
mechanically  smiling  when  the  bank  loses,  and  looking  serious 
when  it  wins,  as  if  nothing  could  cause  him  more  well-bred 
regret. 

There  are  four  other  saloons  equally  rich  in  decoration, 
with  tables  equally  crowded.  Two  of  them  are  devoted  to 
Roulette,  and  two  to  Trente-et-Quarante,  which  is  considered 
the  more  important  game,  as  more  money  can  be  lost  and  won 
at  it. 


332  THE    GAMESTERS. 

One  would  suppose  the  games  would  lag  sometimes,  but 
they  do  not.  As  the  day  advances  the  betting  increases,  and 
just  before  the  closing  hour — 11  p.m. — the  excitement  is  in- 
tense. 

It  is  interesting  to  study  the  faces  of  the  gamesters,  many 
of  whom  have  been  engaged  in  the  calling  for  years.  One  is 
struck  with  the  number  of  old  persons  who  are  either  seated 
or  standing  at  the  tables.  Several  bald  and  gray-haired  men 
whom  I  always  find  in  the  Conversations-haus  might  be  bank 
presidents  or  pillars  of  Churches,  and  may  be,  for  aught  I 
know. 

They  are  entirely  absorbed  with  the  little  cards  before 
them,  making  calculations  as  to  the  chances  of  the  next  deal 
or  the  next  whirl  of  the  ivory  ball.  Gambling  is  their  life. 
They  are  in  the  saloons  two  hours  before  the  time  for  com- 
mencing— 11  o'clock  in  the  morning — waiting  restlessly  about, 
longing  for  their  daily  excitement. 

I  have  been  told  the  history  of  some  of  these  ancient  dev- 
otees to  hazard.  The  one  nearly  opposite  us,  reader,  is  a  re- 
tired merchant  from  Antwerp.  He  is  wealthy,  and  has  no 
need  of  money,  but  he  finds  in  gaming  a  mental  stimulus  that 
he  deems  necessary.  He  comes  about  the  middle  of  July,  and 
stays  until  the  close  of  September.  He  rarely  plays  largely ; 
but  he  is  more  delighted  to  win  a  few  florins  at  Baden  than  he 
once  was  to  make  thousands  in  legitimate  business.  He  fan- 
cies it  proves  the  exactness  of  his  calculation,  and  arithmetic 
is  his  particular  vanity. 

The  hoary  gamester  near  the  dealer  is  wedded  to  supersti- 
tion. He  plays  on  certain  days  of  the  week  only — Wednes- 
days and  Saturdays,  between  12  and  2.  Whether  he  wins  or 
loses  he  stops  at  the  prescribed  time,  and  nothing  would  in- 
duce him  to  make  another  bet.  And  yet  he  is  regarded  as  a 
man  of  sound  judgment  and  extreme  practicality ;  is  a  mem- 
ber of  a  banking  firm  in  Frankfort,  and  one  of  the  best  busi- 
ness men  in  the  city.  He  sometimes  takes  large  risks  ;  but  it 
is  said  his -winnings  and  losses  are  about  even. 

A   mild,   rather  pensive  face   is   this   bending   over   the 


A   DESPERATE   CHARACTER.  333 


croupier  now  and  then.  It  has  a  certain  air  of  abstraction, 
and  not  infrequently  it  is  necessary  to  remind  the  man  it  rep- 
resents, that  he  has  won.  He  receives  the  Frederics  d'or  so 
indifferently  that  it  is  evident  he  does  not  play  for  money. 
He  gambles  for  distraction.  He  is  an  Englishman  who  went 
to  India  and  made  a  fortune.  He  had  a  wife  and  four  chil- 
dren, and  they  all  died  there  of  the  cholera.  He  could  live 
there  no  longer,  and  his  own  country  has  lost  its  charm  for 
him.  He  travels  constantly,  but  gambles  largely  at  "Wies- 
baden, Hombourg,  and  Baden,  every  summer.  He  is  almost 
always  successful,  and  yet  he  has  no  desire  for  gain.  The 
report  is  that  he  devotes  to  charitable  purposes  every  penny 
that  he  wins.  - 

Here  is  a  young  American,  who  has  just  arrived  #from 
Paris.  His  father,  a  wealthy  importer  in  New  York,  gave 
him  five  thousand  dollars  to  come  abroad  with.  lie  con- 
cluded, an  hour  ago,  to  throw  away  a  Napoleon  and  he  won 
fifty.  Now  he  is  a  hundred  Napoleons  loser,  and,  before  he 
quits  the  table,  will  part  with  his  last  franc.  He  will  have  to 
borrow  money  of  one  of  his  father's  correspondents  in  Paris, 
to  take  him  home.  If  he  had  lost  his  Napoleon  he  would 
have  been  satisfied.     His  first  success  will  prove  his  bane. 

What  a  place  is  this  for  adventurers  and  adventuresses ! 
All  the  European  capitals  send  them  here. 

This  tall,  handsome  fellow  is  an  Italian  of  good  family. 
He  had  a  commission  in  the  army,  but  was  found  guilty  of 
forgery,  and  dismissed  from  the  service.  He  went  to  Greece 
and  became  the  leader  of  a  robber-band.  His  crimes  made 
him  so  odious  that  a  price  was  set  upon  his  head,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  fly.  He  changed  his  name  and  went  to  Russia.  At 
St.  Petersburg,  an  intrigue  with  a  colonel's  wife  led  to  a  duel, 
which  resulted  fatally  to  the  injured  husband.  Fearing  exile 
to  Siberia,  he  escaped  from  the  Czar's  dominions  in  disguise. 
He  soon  appeared  in  Paris  as  an  Italian  Count,  and,  being  an 
accomplished  fellow  and  an  excellent  linguist,  he  subsists  by 
his  wits.  His  playing  here  is  only  for  effect.  He  is  looking 
for  a  victim,  and  will  find  one,  of  course.      His  conscience 


334  A   STRANGE    WOMAN. 

ought  to  trouble  him,  but  it  does  not.  He  is  shrewd  enough 
to  keep  out  of  prison.  He  will  live  comfortably  for  many 
years ;  will  send  for  a  priest  in  his  dying  hours ;  will  get  abso- 
lution ;  and  will  breathe  his  last,  surrounded  by  the  comforts 
of  religion. 

Coming  into  the  saloon,  is  a  man  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  in 
New  York,  in  New  Orleans,  and  in  London,  if  not  elsewhere. 
His  face  is  so  peculiar  one  does  not  readily  forget  it.  I  don't 
know  his  name,  and  have  no  idea  how  he  lives,  though  he  al- 
ways seems  in  good  circumstances.  He  puts  his  hand  in  his 
pocket,  draws  out  a  handful  of  double  Frederics  very  conspic- 
uously, and  loses  them  in  two  minutes.  Then  he  saunters  into 
the  cafe  ;  lights  a  cigar,  and  stares  at  the  women  with  offensive 
rudeness.  I  wonder  how  many  times  he  has  been  horse- 
whipped! He  certainly  deserves  to  have  been.  Who  is  he? 
I  doubt  very  much  if  he  could  tell  himself.  I  think  he  is  an 
American  :  I  am  sure  he  is  a  scoundrel. 

Leaning,  with  one  of  her  hands  ungloved,  on  the  table,  is 
a  woman  of  about  twenty-live,  judging  from  her  face,  and  yet 
her  hair  (it  is  not  powdered)  is  entirely  gray,  contrasting 
strangely  with  her  deep  black  eyes.  She  seems  very  anxious 
to  win,  and  yet  she  loses  every  stake.  She  goes  from  one  ta- 
ble to  another,  and  the  same  ill-fortune  attends  her.  She 
strives  to  look  careless,  but  she  has  difficulty  in  keeping  back 
the  tears.  Her  face  is  gentle  and  sympathetic.  I  pity  her.  I 
wish  I  knew  her  history,  for  I  am  confident  she  has  one. 

"  That  woman,"  says  a  man  at  my  side,  to  his  companion 
(pointing  below  the  table  in  her  direction),  "  ran  away  from 
her  husband,  in  Dublin,  two  years  ago,  with  a  worthless 
wretch,  whom  she  now  supports  by  selling  herself.  She  will 
do  anything  to  keep  him ;  for,  in  spite  of  his  infamy,  she  loves 
him  devotedly." 

"  Can  such  things  be  ? " 

"  Yes ;  anything  can  be  at  Baden." 

In  that  blaze  of  jewels  is  the  wife  of  a  famous  musician  in 
Paris,  who  lent  her,  it  is  said,  to  old  Louis  of  Bavaria.  The 
king,  dying,  left  her  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  she  is  now  en- 


NATIVE  BEAUTY.  335 

joying  it.  "When  another  wealthy  wooer  comes,  the  modern 
Cato  will  yield  his  spouse  again.  Her  equipage  is  one  of  the 
showiest  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne ;  and,  being  a  notoriety,  it  is 
her  duty  to  visit  Baden,  and  play  a  little  for  the  sake  of  her 
reputation.  She  is  not  handsome  nor  graceful ;  but  she  is  im- 
pure, and  impurity,  at  such  places  as  this,  is  often  an  attrac- 
tion. 

These  things  are  unpleasant  to  think  of;  but  they  are  true, 
and  must  be  expected  where  gambling  is  fashionable. 

As  may  be  supposed,  comparatively  few  of  the  feminine 
visitors  play ;  but  they  like  to  see  others  do  so.  "  It  is  so 
novel,  so  exciting,"  I  heard  an  American  girl  say ;  "  Baden  is 
a  charming  place — there's  so  much  life  here ! " 

If  I  had  been  a  moralist,  I  should  have  answered,  "And 
so  much  death — death  of  fineness,  death  of  purity,  death  of 
aspiration." 

Baden  is  unquestionably  gay.  When  the  band  plays  in 
front  of  the  Conversations-haus,  in  the  afternoon  and  evening, 
a  more  brilliantly  dressed  and  more  fashionable  throng  cannot 
be  found  in  Europe.  All  the  nationalities  are  represented, 
and  some  of  the  women  are  exceedingly  pretty,  the  prettiest 
— pardon  the  connection — being  the  demi-mondeists  of  Paris, 
and  the  sweet-faced  girls  of  America.  Of  course,  they  look 
very  unlike,  but  both  are  noticeably  handsome.  All  foreign- 
ers are  struck  by  the  beauty  of  the  daughters  of  the  Great 
Republic,  and.  cannot  quite  comprehend  the  secret  of  it. 
There  is  no  need  of  explanation,  though  it  might  easily  be 
given.     Let  us  be  satisfied  with  the  fact. 

The  Direction  has  a  weakness  in  favor  of  morality  and  re- 
ligion, which  should  be  set  down  to  its  credit.  It  employs  a 
man  to  sell  Bibles  in  all  languages,  in  front  of  the  great  gam- 
bling hall,  and  informs  its  patrons,  in  printed  cards  conspicuous- 
ly displayed  throughout  the  saloons,  that  on  Sunday  neither  the 
game  of  Roulette  nor  Trente-et-  Quarante  will  be  begun  until 
after  the  completion  of  Divine  service. 

Hypocrisy  is  the  deference  Vice  pays  to  Virtue — when 
Virtue  pays  well. 


CHAPTEE    XLIIL 


THE   GAMBLING   SPAS WIESBADEN. 

!IESB  ADEN— capital  of  the  Duchy  of  Nassau, 
and  five  miles  from  Mainz — is  quite  a  city,  hav- 
ing a  population  of  twenty-three  or  four  thousand, 
and  numerous  objects  of  interest,  which  are  gen- 
erally lost  sight  of  in  its  merely  social  aspects 
and  its  reputation  for  play.  This  is  one  of  the 
oldest  spas  in  Germany ;  is  the  chief  residence 
of  the  Duke,  and  is  mentioned  by  Pliny  as  renowned  for  its 
warm  baths.  On  the  Heidelberg,  to  the  north  of  the  town, 
traces  of  a  Roman  fortress  were  discovered  some  twenty  years 
ago,  and  inscriptions  show  that  it  was  garrisoned  by  the  Four- 
teenth and  Twenty-second  Legions.  What  now  forms  a  part 
of  the  city  wall  was  evidently  built  by  the  Romans — it  bears 
the  name  of  Heidenmauer  or  heathen's  wall — for  fragments 
of  temples  and  votive  tablets  may  still  be  recognized  among 
the  stones  of  which  it  is  composed,  and  urns,  weapons,  and 
soldiers'  tombs  are  carefully  preserved  in  the  museum.  The 
Greek  chapel — built  by  the  Duke  as  a  mausoleum  for  his  first 
wife,  a  Russian  Princess — is  on  the  Neroberg,  where,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  Nero  once  had  a  palace.  The  Duke,  by  the 
bye,  expended  all  the  money  he  had  received  from  his  deceased 
consort  in  the  chapel,  rendering  it  a  splendid  structure ;  and, 
.as  he  soon  married  again,  it  is  generally  thought  that  his  pecu- 
niary investment  was  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  he  could 
have  made.  So  you  see  Wiesbaden  is  classic ;  and,  from  what 
I  have  observed  there,  I  am  confident  it  is  romantic. 

Though  the  strongest  magnet  is  the  gambling,  and.  the 


THE   WARM  SPRINGS.  337 

Kursaal,  in  which  the  tables  are,  is  the  principal  resort,  many 
persons  go  for  the  water,  said  to  be  excellent  in  its  hygienic 
effects.  The  waters,  all  from  warm  springs,  are  specially  valued 
for  baths,  and  have  been  for  years.  The  Kochbrunnen — boil- 
ing spring — is  the  principal,  and,  like  the  other  springs,  con- 
tains chloride  of  sodium.  Many  persons  drink  the  water  hot, 
though  how  they  manage  it,  I  can't  understand.  I  succeeded 
in  swallowing  a  mouthful  or  two,  which  was  quite  sufficient  to 
Mexicanize  me,  i.  e.,  throw  me  into  a  state  of  inward  revolu- 
tion— and  I  have  never  repeated  the  experiment.  Invalids 
must  believe  it  does  them  good,  because  it  makes  them  uncom- 
fortable, just  as  many  persons  think  they  are  righteous  when 
they  are  only  dyspeptic.  Not  a  few  of  the  gamesters  take  the 
baths.     At  least  I  have  often  seen  them  in  hot  water. 

It  is  interesting  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning  and  watch 
the  people  go  into  the  pump-room  and  perform  aqueous  duty. 
Young  and  old,  men  and  women,  the  sound  and  the  lame  ap- 
pear on  the  scene.  Each  seems  to  have  a  theory  about  his  or 
her  health,  and  to  deem  it  necessary  to  drink  so  much  water. 
Some  swallow  one,  some  two,  some  three,  and  others  ten 
glasses,  usually  taking  a  little  exercise  between  them.  I  have 
noticed  rather  elderly  men  walk  to  the  springs  quite  briskly, 
who,  after  drinking,  had  to  be  helped  home.  No  doubt,  if 
they  keep  up  this  peculiar  treatment,  they  float  themselves 
into  their  graves.  One  must  have  a  vigorous  constitution  to 
begin  with,  to  drink  hot  water  before  breakfast  for  any  length 
of  time.  I  am  persuaded  the  habit,  long  indulged,  would 
destroy  a  giant.  Nearly  all  invalids  grow  to  be  hypochon- 
driacs. An  ill  body  makes  an  ill  mind,  and  sick  people  are 
inclined  to  trust  everything  but  Nature,  who  is,  after  all,  the 
best  physician. 

The  baths  I  have  never  seen  tried ;  and  my  observations  have 
led  me  to  the  opinion  that  bathing  is  not  popular  in  Germany. 
I  believe  bathing  is  a  good  thing,  however.  I  have  met  a 
number  of  persons  during  my  travels  in  that  country,  who 
would,  I  am  sure,  be  benefited  by  it.  The  exact  effect  of  chloride 
22 


338  TEE  KVRSAAL. 

of  sodium  I  do  not  know ;  but  in  its  absence  I  bold  tbat  ordi- 
nary soap  might  be  safely  substituted. 

The-  Kursaal,  near  the  end  of  the  "Wilhelms-strasse,  the 
principal  thoroughfare,  is  a  very  large  and  handsome  building, 
with  a  Pantheon  portico  and  two  extended  wings.  It  is  de- 
voted to  play ;  but  ball,  concert,  reading,  and  dining-rooms 
are  connected  with  the  restaurant.  They  are  all  decorated  and 
furnished  very  richly,  the  walls  being  frescoed  and  gilded  in 
the  style  of  the  French  and  Italian  palaces.  In  the  main  hall 
are  pillars  of  red  and  gray  marble  of  the  country,  and  in  the 
walls  are  niches  containing  very  fair  copies  of  the  Yenus, 
Apollo,  and  other  famous  antiques.  A  beautiful  park,  with 
fountains  and  elaborate  flower-beds,  is  in  front  of  the  Kursaal, 
and  in  the  rear  an  extensive  garden,  with  charming  walks, 
ponds,  rustic  bridges,  groves,  and  water-jets.  On  two  sides  of 
the  park  are  colonnades,  in  which  are  elegant  shops  for  the  sale 
of  jewelry,  photographs,  flowers,  books,  and  toilette  articles. 
Inwardly  and  outwardly  the  Kursaal  is  exceedingly  attractive, 
very  much  what  extravagant  reporters  describe  gambling  sa- 
loons to  be  in  our  own  cities,  but  what  they  seldom  are. 

The  gambling  saloons,  containing  five  tables,  two  roulette 
and  three  trente-et-quarante,  are  open  to  everybody ;  and  the 
smallest  formality,  such  as  the  usual .  leaving  of  your  cane  or 
umbrella  at  the  door,  is  not  at  all  necessary.  The  gilded  spider 
says  to  the  wandering  fly :  "  Come  into  my  pleasant  parlor. 
There  are  no  hindrances.  I  will  entertain  you  as  long  as  you 
will  stay." 

Roulette  and  trente-et-quarante  are  fairly  played  there ;  but 
there  are  advantages  enough  in  favor  of  the  banker  to  render 
it  certain  he  will  win  in  the  long  run.  Much  depends  on  cool- 
ness, and  professional  players  are  always  cool.  Then  there  do 
seem  to  be  such  things  as  streaks  of  good  and  ill-luck,  as  they 
are  called,  much  as  reason  contradicts  it.  Everybody  has 
experienced  this,  and  nobody  has  accounted  for  it. 

There  are  times  when  you  cannot  get  a  good  hand  at  euchre 
or  whist,  shuffle  the  cards  as  you  may,  and  other  times  when 
you  out-hold  your  adversary  all  the  while.     Fortune  is  against 


THE   TABLES   CROWDED.  339 

you,  or  on  your  side,  and  you  cannot  change  it  by  any  kind  of 
tact,  or  by  any  taxing  of  your  ingenuity.  The  only  way  to  do 
when  you  are  in  ill-luck  is  to  cease  playing ;  but  that  is  the 
very  thing  men  wont  do.  Gamblers  never  bet  so  largely  and 
recklessly  as  when  they  are  losing ;  for  they  seek  to  get  back 
their  losses,  and  the  result  is  they  only  add  thereto.  Persons  who 
win  are  prone  to  play  cautiously.  They  do  not  double,  treble, 
and  quadruple,  as  when  they  are  far  behind  the  game ;  for  they 
have  not  the  motive  to  risk  large  sums.  It  is  this  more  than 
anything  else  by  which  amateur  gamblers  suffer.  They  fail  to 
recognize  when  the  tide  has  set  against  them,  and  to  profit  by 
the  knowledge.  To  lose,  renders  them  desperate;  to  win, 
makes  them  cautious ;  and  so  it  will  always  be  with  human 
nature. 

The  gambling,  as  I  have  said,  begins  at  11  in  the  morning 
and  ends  at  11  in  the  evening,  Sundays  excepted,  since  Prussia 
has  had  dominion  over  Nassau.  The  masses,  or  stakes,  are 
limited.  You  cannot  bet  less  than  one  florin  (about  forty 
cents)  at  rotdette,  or  less  than  two  florins  at  trente-et-quar 
rante  /  and  you  cannot  bet  more  than  four  thousand  florins  in 
any  event. 

The  saloons  are  opened  the  1st  of  May  and  closed  the  1st 
of  November.  During  July  and  August  they  are  constantly 
thronged.  You  cannot  get  at  the  tables  without  crowding, 
and  you  must  lean  over  others  to  put  your  money  down. 
Not  a  few  persons  would  bet  in  a  small  way,  for  the  sake  of 
betting,  if  many  were  not  so  eager  for  the  excitement  as  to 
render  the  experiment  difficult. 

The  throng  about  the  tables  is  not  of  the  character  you 
would  expect,  or  have  heard  about.  Beautiful  duchesses, 
betting  away  their  diamonds ;  Russian  princes,  with  heaps  of 
frederics  d'or  before  them,  calmly  and  systematically  breaking 
the  bank ;  handsome  young  spendthrifts  losing  their  last  napo- 
leon, and  then  stepping  into  the  garden  to  blow  their  brains 
out,  are  seldom  seen.  Still  there  is  a  motley  crew  of  game- 
sters. Many  of  them,  as  at  Baden-Baden,  are  old  men  and 
old  women,  who  look  as  if  they  might  be  at  the  head  of  chari- 


340  FEMININE   GAMESTERS. 

table  societies.  They  take  the  deepest  interest  in  the  game ; 
come  early,  and  go  late  ;  watch  every  point  and  turn ;  can  tell 
you  every  number  and  card  that  has  won  during  the  past  six 
hours.  They  don't  play  for  pleasure  or  excitement.  They 
play  for  money.  They  are  mercenary.  Avarice  is  the  one 
passion  that  has  survived.  Outliving  love,  indifferent  to 
friendship,  too  old  for  ambition,  incapable  of  a  future  at  their 
years,  every  feeling  is  centred  in  selfishness,  every  desire  in 
gain.  Dreary  old  age  theirs ;  what  would  they  do  if  they 
could  not  gamble  ? 

Not  infrequently,  you  see  a  man  and  his  wife,  seated  side 
by  side,  both  old,  both  selfish,  both  mercenary.  I  have  known 
them  to  occupy  their  positions  ten  hours  at  a  time,  without 
turning  their  heads  from  the  table,  rarely  uttering  a  word,  but 
looking  very  wretched  when  they  lost,  and  savagely  satisfied 
when  they  won.  Some  of  these  pairs  are  present  season  after 
season.  When  they  come  not,  the  undertaker  has  been  called 
in,  and  their  bodies  are  hidden  from  sight. 

Not  all  the  women  who  gamble  are  old,  or  homely,  or 
heartless.  Many  of  the  feminine  gamesters  are  young  and 
handsome,  and  intense  to  the  last  degree.  They  want  money 
or  excitement,  or  both,  and  yet  their  attire  and  jewels,  and 
their  nervous  faces,  would  indicate  that  they  had  abundance  of 
both.  They  are  usually  French ;  often  English ;  sometimes 
Italians ;  seldom  Germans ;  never  Americans.  Occasionally 
they  are  women  of  rank,  but,  for  the  most  part,  adventuresses 
who  find  at  the  spas  the  sensations  they  seek. 

There  is  one  opposite.  She  is  very  pretty.  She  is  ele- 
gantly and  expensively  dressed.  Pearls  are  on  her  neck, 
which  is  liberally  exposed ;  diamonds  are  on  her  fingers ; 
emeralds  are  on  her  arms.  Her  eyes  are  bright,  and  her  lips 
are  red,  so  bright  and  so  red  that  they  suggest  fever  of  the 
brain  and  blood.  She  is  alone.  No  one  knows  her,  or  cares 
to  know  her.  Yet  she  has  many  friends  in  Paris.  She  only 
came  yesterday.  She  has  been  to  Baden-Baden  and  Hom- 
burg ;  she  will  soon  leave  for  Ems. 

She  is  making  her  annual  round.     She  plays  for  oblivion. 


VICTIMS   OF  PLAY.  341 

She  is  educated  and  naturally  refined.  Her  purse  is  full,  for 
her  friends  are  generous  ;  but  her  heart  is  empty,  and  a  viper 
crawls  and  stings  under  those  heaving  folds  of  lace. 

She  is  a  fashionable  lorette — a  creature  that  cannot  exist, 
save  on  the  Seine.  Her  life  will  not  be  long,  for  inward  fires 
are  burning  through  the  desecrated  temple  of  clay. 

Five  years  hence,  when  you  visit  Pere  la  Chaise,  you  will 
see  a  small  white  monument,  and  on  it  will  be  graven  "Elise." 
Nothing  more  ?  Yes  ;  an  immortelle  will  crown  the  marble, 
and  u  I?  amour"  will  be  written  on  the  circle. 

Poor  Elise  !  Like  many  better  women,  she  was  loved  too 
late. 

At  this  end  of  the  table  is  another  fair  woman.  Why  does 
she  play  ?  Her  husband  is  wealthy.  She  has  children  who 
love  her,  and  whose  years  are  tender.  She  leaves  him  and 
them,  and  comes  here  secretly  to  gamble.  It  is  the  passion  of 
her  soul.  A  few  years  ago  she  risked  a  sovereign  at  Ems,  and 
from  that  time  she  became  a  confirmed  gambler.  She  pawns 
her  jewels  and  her  clothes.  Her  husband  counsels  her  against 
extravagance,  never  dreaming  where  his  liberal  allowance  goes. 

Such  instances  are  not  uncommon.  Women  can  rarely  do 
things  in  moderation.  They  can  have  no  easy  vices.  They 
cannot  play  with  fire  to-day,  and  forget  it  to-morrow.  To 
sport  with  the  blazing  brand  is  to  consume  themselves. 

It  is  sad  to  see  women  gamble.  I  am  not  conservative  in 
the  least ;  but  the  spectacle  gives  me  pain.  I  am  very  glad 
Americans  are  not  guilty  of  the  practice,  and  I  hope  they 
never  will  be.  It  is  bad  enough  for  men ;  but  they  can  do 
with  impunity  what  will  ruin  women. 

Wiesbaden  is  gay  and  fashionable.  The  music  is  sweet. 
Eyes  are  bright.  Robes  are  rich.  The  gardens  are  beautiful. 
But  under  the  gilding  and  the  glitter  and  the  perfume  I  see  a 
grinning  skeleton  that  makes  my  blood  run  cold. 


CHAPTER    XLIY. 

THE   GAMBLING   SPAS HOMBOURG. 

OMBOURG,  a  few  miles  from  Frankfort-on- 
the-Main,  is  situated  on  one  of  the  hills  at 
the  foot  of  the  Great  Feldberg,  not  far  from 
the  Taunus  Mountains.  As  a  town,  it  is 
nothing ;  but  as  a  fashionable  resort,  and  as  a 
gaming  centre,  it  is  considered  of  vast  impor- 
tance. Like  Heidelberg,  it  consists  mainly  of  one 
street,  on  which  stands  the  Kurhaus — the  famous 
gambling  saloon,  with  its  accompaniments — and  to 
that  point  everybody  tends.  Of  late  years,  Hombourg  has 
grown  more  and  more  into  favor  as  a  summer  resort,  and  now 
disputes  successfully  with  its  older  rivals,  Wiesbaden  and 
Baden-Baden,  the  claim  to  cosmopolitan  popularity.  As  a 
place  for  play,  it  has  rather  outstripped  them ;  the  stakes 
being  larger,  and  the  betting  more  active  than  at  the  two  other 
fashionable  spas. 

The  vicinity  is  reported  to  have  considerable  interest  for 
antiquarians ;  the  Saalburg,  near  by,  having  been  ascertained 
to  be  the  remains  of  an  old  Roman  fort  and  part  of  a  line  of 
military  works  built  by  Germanicus,  to  prevent  the  incursions 
of  the  Teutons  after  they  had  been  conquered  by  the  imperial 
legions.  Ptolemy  mentions  Hombourg  as  Arctaun on.  I  men- 
tion it  as  a  tinselled  arena  for  fighting  the  tiger,  an  animal  that 
abounds  in  the  neighborhood,  and  is  remarkable,  zoologically 
considered,  for  the  velvet  sheathing  of  his  claws. 

I  have  seen  a  great  many  persons  there  from  all  parts  of 
Europe  and  America  ;  but  so  far  as  I  could  observe,  their  inter- 


CONCEALED  BANG  Eli.  343 

est  in  antiquities  was  neither  profound  nor  enthusiastic.  They 
don't  seem  to  care  a  fig  about  Drusus  or  Tacitus,  their  time 
and  attention  being  absorbed  by  wine,  women,  and  play.  This 
is  an  unclassic  age,  I  suspect ;  and  even  cultivated  men  will 
neglect  Plato  and  Seneca,  and  all  their  fine  discourses,  to  look 
after  their  rouleaux  of  coin,  or  to  follow  the  pretty  coquette 
who  has  indicated  that  she  may  be  won. 

The  tables  there,  as  at  Wiesbaden  and  Baden-Baden,  are 
leased  by  the  Duchy  for  so  much  a  year,  and  the  government 
derives  $80,000  to  $100,000  per  annum  from  the  lessee.  From 
this  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  gambling  saloons  are  remunera- 
tive—r-to  those  who  conduct  them,  and  that  the  miscellaneous 
public  is  correspondingly  a  loser. 

Hombourg,  in  the  elaborate  decoration  of  its  saloons,  the 
beauty  of  its  promenades,  and  the  delightfulness  of  its  gardens, 
is  hardly  equalled  by  any  gambling  place  in  Germany.  All 
that  taste  and  money  can  do  to  render  the  Kurhaus  and  its 
surroundings  attractive  is  done  in  the  most  lavish  manner. 
The  saloons  are  gorgeous  with  gilt,  painting,  and  luxurious 
furniture ;  and  in  the  evening,  when  the  great  chandeliers  are 
lighted,  and  the  throng  is  largest,  the  Kurhaus  is  brilliant  in- 
deed. The  danger  and  the  evil  of  gaming  are  cunningly 
concealed.  In  connection  with  the  saloons,  as  elsewhere,  are 
music  and  reading  rooms,  an  excellent  cafe,  and  restaurant — all 
charming  places  for  lounging. 

No  one  asks  you  to  play.  You  have  all  the  privileges  of 
the  place  without  risking  a  kreutzer.  You  are  not  even  expected 
to  bet  unless  you  want  to.  No  impression  is  conveyed  that  you 
ought  to  lose  something  in  payment  of  your  luxurious  com- 
fort. Everybody  is  polite  and  self-disciplined.  There  is  no 
noise,  no  apparent  excitement.  The  tables  are  crowded.  The 
bank  has  patrons  in  excess  without  you.  "What  would  be  your 
few  florins  to  the  piles  of  bank-notes  and  the  rouleaux  of  na- 
poleons that  cover  the  table  ?  If  you  wish  to  bet,  you  must 
press  against  some  one  else,  and  the  croupier  looks  at  your 
stake,  whether  it  be  large  or  small,  so  calmly  and  complacent- 
ly, that  you  feel  as  if  it  were  a  privilege  to  lose,  and  an  obliga- 
tion to  win. 


344  TRENTE-ET-QUARANTE. 

All  this  has  its  effect,  and  is  ingeniously  devised.  The 
ease  and  repose  you  see  around  you  give  you  a  sense  of  secur- 
ity. The  numerous  gamesters  of  both  sexes  seem  to  be  favor- 
ites of  fortune.  If  they  had  not  been  successful,  they  would 
not  have  such  an  air  of  tranquillity.  They  may  be  losers  at 
this  moment ;  but  they  must  have  won  before.  Otherwise 
they  would  not  be  on  such  terms  of  satisfaction  with  them- 
selves ;  for  to  fail  in  anything  begets  discontent,  and  discon- 
tent enters  into  the  manners  as  dyspepsia  does  into  our 
opinions. 

There  is  a  feeling  of  avarice  in  almost  every  man,  even  if  it 
be  latent.  No  sensible  mind  despises  money  ;  and  as  you  watch 
the  game,  and  see  fifty  or  a  hundred  napoleons  drawn  in  by  a 
lucky  bettor,  it  seems  so  easy  and  so  pleasant  to  win  that  you 
are  tempted  to  risk  at  least  a  trifle.  That  trifle  staked,  unless 
you  have  more  than  common  strength,  the  beginning  of  the 
habit  is  formed — a  delicate  fibre  at  first,  and  a  cable  of  wire  at 
last.  So  appearances  deceive.  So  we  slip  into  placid  streams 
that  bear  us  unconsciously  to  fatal  rapids. 

The  games  played  there,  as  at  the  other  Continental  spas, 
are  roulette  and  trerite-et-quarante,  or  rouge-et-noir.  The 
trente-et-quarmite  table  is  oval,  and  covered  with  green  cloth, 
and  in  the  middle  are  the  apparatus  and  the  funds  of  the  bank. 
There  are  four  different  chances  in  the  play,  designated,  let  me 
say,  by  A,  B,  C,  D,  called  respectively  noir,  rouge,  couleur, 
and  contre-couleur ;  A  marking  the  chance  depending  on  the 
first  series  of  cards,  B  the  chance  depending  on  the  second 
series,  C  the  chance  of  the  first  card,  and  D  the  opposite  chance. 
The  player  is  at  liberty  to  bet  any  sum  not  less  than  two,  or 
more  than  fifty-six  hundred  florins.  If  he  wins  on  any  one  of 
the  chances,  he  gets  the  amount  of  his  stake,  or  mise,  as  it  is 
called.  If  he  loses,  his  stake  is  taken.  The  pack  or  deck  of 
cards  is  complete,  as  in  whist ;  ace  counting  one,  deuce  two, 
trey  three,  etc.,  and  each  face  card  ten. 

Every  pack  contains  fifty-two  cards,  and  each  color  has 
twenty-six  cards.  The  whole  number  of  points  is  three  hun- 
dred and  forty,  eighty-five  for  each  of  the  four  denominations. 


ROULETTE.  345 

The  game  is  played  with  six  packs  of  cards,  making  two  thou- 
sand and  forty  points.  The  tailleur  (the  croupier  who  lays  the 
cards)  deals  from  the  six  packs,  and  lays  them  in  two  series, 
so  that  each  series  contains  more  than  thirty  points,  but  never 
over  forty.  The  first  series  is  for  noir  ;  the  second  for  rouge. 
The  series  that  contains  thirty  or  nearest  to  it  wins  ;  the  other 
loses. 

According  to  the  chance  called  couleur,  the  first  card  in 
the  first  series  gives  the  color  upon  which  the  bettor  plays.  If 
the  first  card  is  noir,  his  gain  or  loss  depends  upon  the  gain  or 
loss  of  the  first  row.  If  the  first  series  has  thirty,  or  the  nearer 
to  the  number,  he  wins,  and  the  tailleur  so  announces.  If  the 
card  is  rouge,  the  bettor's  gain  or  loss  depends  on  the  second 
series.  Contre-couleur  is  opposed  to  couleur.  The  bettor  plays 
upon  the  second  series,  and  if  the  first  card  laid  down  is  rouge, 
the  banker  announces  that  rouge  and  couleur  have  won.  The 
banker  is  obliged  to  announce  the  number  of  points  of  every 
series  as  soon  as  it  is  laid  on  the  table.  If  both  series  are  forty, 
the  bettor  neither  loses  nor  wins.  He  can  withdraw  his  stake 
or  leave  it,  and  the  new  deal  decides.  If  the  two  series  each 
have  thirty-one  points,  the  refait,  as  it  is  termed,  is  for  the 
benefit  of  the  bank.  The  croupiers  put  the  stake  of  the  bettor 
"  in  prison,"  and  if  he  wins  next  time,  his  money  is  returned ; 
if  the  contrary,  it  is  lost. 

The  banker  announces  when  the  game  is  made,  and  then 
no  stakes  can  be  accepted  or  withdrawn.  The  croupiers  draw 
in  the  lost  money  and  pay  the  winners.  The  banker  throws  the 
cards  into  a  basket  after  the  series.  When  a  new  game  is 
made  the  croupiers  shuffle  them,  and  any  bettor  can  cut  them. 
The  circle  of  players,  called  the  "galerie,"  can  compel  the 
banker  to  take  new  cards  if  the  majority  wish  it. 

Roulette  is  played  with  a  cylinder,  in  which  there  are 
thirty-six  numbers,  from  1  upward,  and  a  single  0  (there  are 
two  zeros  at  some  of  the  gambling  places),  with  corresponding 
compartments,  each  one  black  or  red,  and  answering  to  a  num- 
ber. The  cylinder  or  wheel  is  turned,  and  a  small  ivory  ball, 
sent  in  the  opposite  direction,  at  last  falls  into  one  of  the  com- 


346  THE   CLASS   OF   VISITORS. 

partments.  On  the  cloth  that  covers  the  table  are  the  same 
numbers  as  in  the  cylinder,  ranged  in  three  columns,  with 
three  12's  on  the  right  and  left,  and  on  the  side  of  the  columns 
are  the  words  rouge  (red),  impair  (not  straight),  manque  (be- 
low the  middle  number),  noir  (black),  passe  (above  the  mid- 
dle number),  and  pair  (straight). 

The  bettor  can  play  in  seventeen  different  ways  by  putting 
his  money  on  the  numbers  of  the  table,  or  the  lines  of  the 
columns,  and  is  paid  in  proportion  to  the  risk  he  takes ;  the 
game  being  decided  by  the  compartment  into  which  the  ball 
falls.  If  the  player  puts  his  money  on  the  space  marked  im- 
pair, any  odd  number  wins ;  if  on  the  pair,  an  even  number 
wins ;  and  so  with  the  passe  and  manque.  The  lowest  bet 
that  can  be  made  on  roulette  is  one  florin,  and  thirty-six  times 
the  amount  of  the  stake  may  be  won,  if  the  number  betted  on 
receives  the  ivory  ball. 

Usually,  a  number  of  Americans  may  be  found  at  Hom- 
bourg,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  visitors  are  English,  French, 
Italians,  Spaniards,  Germans,  and  Russians.  Among  the 
Americans  there  are  few  bettors,  though  sometimes  they  risk 
largely,  and  generally  lose,  from  the  fact  that  they  don't  study 
the  game.  The  English  play  frequently  but  cautiously ;  the 
French  with  prudence,  and  after  careful  calculation ;  the  Ger- 
mans in  a  small  way,  rarely  losing  their  judgment  through 
excitement ;  the  Italians  spasmodically  and  feverishly ;  the 
Spaniards  from  pure  love  of  gambling,  and  the  Russians  very 
freely  and  desperately. 

Most  of  the  foreigners  who  visit  the  German  spas  are  in 
prosperous  circumstances,  particularly  the  Italians,  Spaniards, 
and  Russians.  The  last  are  usually  men  of  consequence  at 
home,  and  possessors  of  fortunes.  They  seem  to  have  a  vanity 
in  spending  money  that  is  beyond  the  folly  of  the  Americans. 
Not  many  of  them  travel,  and  those  who  do  think  they  must 
be  extravagant  for  the  sake  of  the  national  reputation. 

The  Russians  are  the  best  patrons  of  the  gambling-houses, 
the  largest  buyers  of  champagne  and  diamonds,  and  the  great- 
est fools  about  women  of  any  people  on  the  Continent.     There 


THE   TEMPTATION  OF  VANITY.  347 

are  so  few  Muscovite  beauties  that  when  a  subject  of  the  Czar 
sees  a  pretty  face  or  a  graceful  figure,  he  becomes  infatuated  at 
once — a  natural  result  of  the  disparity  between  supply  and 
demand. 

At  Hombourg,  as  at  the  other  spas,  the  feminine  gamesters 
are  the  most  interesting  subjects  of  study,  and  there  are  many 
— the  majority  from  Paris.  Most  of  them  are  young;  but 
occasionally  you  see  a  matron  of  sixty,  gross  and  wrinkled, 
trying  her  chances  at  the  tables.  I  have  seen  antique  creatures, 
too  old  to  walk  alone,  some  on  crutches  even,  who  sat  steadily 
and  anxiously,  hour  after  hour,  parting  with  their  florins,  and 
envying  all  who  had  the  courage  to  risk  gold.  When  women 
begin  to  gamble,  they  are  apt  to  keep  up  the  habit  very  late  in 
life.  Several  gray-haired  women  have  been  visiting  Hom- 
bourg for  the  last  fifteen  years,  and  will  continue  to  visit  it 
until  death  wins  their  final  stake. 

It  is  noticeable  that  the  young  women  who  play  are  generally 
very  extravagant  in  their  style  of  dress  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
their  temptation  springs  from  love  of  adornment.  When  they 
win  any  considerable  sum  they  expend  it  for  jewelry,  and  when 
they  lose,  they  call  on  Mr.  Moses  and  obtain  a  loan  on  his  usu- 
ally favorable  terms.  No  women  living  have  such  a  passion 
for  display  as  French  women  of  a  certain  class.  They  would 
sell  themselves  to  the  devil  for  trumpery  and  gewgaws,  and 
seal  the  bargain  by  a  mortgage  on  their  souls. 

The  garden  in  the  rear  of  the  Ivurhaus  is  a  most  remarkable 
field  for  flirtation.  No  one  feels  less  interest  in  other  people's 
love  aftairs  than  I  do.  Indeed,  I  am  always  trying  to  avoid 
knowing  anything  about  them,  which  may  be  the  reason  I  am 
constantly  stumbling  upon  them.  I  used  to  like  to  walk  in 
the  garden  in  the  evening,  with  my  cigar  and  my  thoughts  as 
companions ;  but  I  have  discovered  so  many  men  and  women 
fondling  each  other  that  I  was  forced  to  go  elsewhere. 

Why  will  persons  of  mature  years  be  sentimental  in  public  ? 
There  ought  to  be  an  asylum  for  such  lunatics,  though  I  sus- 
pect they  would  prove  incurables.  Sentiment  is  well  enough 
in  its  way,  no  doubt,  but  I  can't  conceive  of  any  emergency 


348 


LOVE-MAKING  IN  PUBLIC. 


that  should  excuse  a  man  for  calling  a  woman  "darling"  on 
the  highway,  or  for  clasping  her  waist  in  the  office  of  a  crowded 
hotel. 

Nor  can  I  regard  with  leniency  the  men  and  women  of 
society  who,  in  the  pleasant  rambles  at  the  back  of  the  Kur- 
haus,  will  insist  upon  relating  to  every  idle  stroller  the  exact 
nature  of  their  mutual  relations.  If  they  will  be  fond  of  each 
other,  let  them  keep  the  fact  to  themselves. 


CHAPTER  XLY. 

EMS. 

•MS,   near   Coblenz,   makes    up   the   quartette 
of  fashionable    gambling   spas   in   Germany. 
Though  not  so  well  known  in  our  country  as 
Hombourg  and  Wiesbaden,  it  is  veiy  famous 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  as  the  resort  of  the 
beau  monde.     It  is  claimed  for  Ems  that  its  society  is 
better — more  distinguished  than  that  of  its  rivals ;  that 
there  the  high  courtesies  and  elegances  of  society  are 
more  thoroughly  observed  than  at  any  other  summer 
resort. 

I  have  studied  Ems  closely,  but  I  do  not  find  it  materially 
unlike  any  place  where  persons  with  a  good  deal  of  money  go 
to  play  and  dissipate,  and  throttle  time  with  the  feverish  hands 
of  excitement. 

Ems  is  old  as  the  Romans,  and  the  fact  is  shown  by  the 
discovery,  even  to  this  day,  of  antique  coins  and  vases.  It  has 
not  improved  very  much,  notwithstanding  its  age ;  for  the 
little  village  cannot  now  boast  of  more  than  three  thousand 
persons.  The  floating  and  bathing  population  exceeds  twenty 
thousand  a  year,  and  the  townspeople  make  enough  out  of 
them,  while  they  are  there,  to  live  very  comfortably  until  the 
annual  return. 

A  few  square  miles  of  the  neighborhood  once  belonged  to 
eight  different  princes,  each  one  of  whom  was  a  little  despot, 
and  more  self-important  than  the  Emperor,  or  the  Czar  of 
Russia. 

The  town  is  pleasantly  situated  on  the  Lahn,   a   pretty 


350  FEMALE  HYPOCHONDRIACS. 

little  stream,  and  flanked  by  picturesque  green  hills  com- 
manding a  fine  view,  including  the  Rhine  and  the  Royal  Cha- 
teau of  Stolzenfels.  There  are  many  shady  walks  and  quiet 
nooks,  into  which  lovers  can  retire  for  private  consultation, 
and  where  men  who  have  lost  their  last  stake  can  cut  their 
throats  without  making  a  scene  at  the  tables  that  have  ruined 
them. 

The  waters  are  celebrated,  as  many  as  two  hundred  thou- 
sand bottles  being  exported  every  year,  which  does  not  prevent 
many  persons  from  making  annual  pilgrimages  to  fill  them- 
selves with  the  ill-tasting  liquids,  declared  to  be  beneficial  in 
consumption,  and  in  all  the  complaints  of  woman,  including^ 
I  suppose,  heartache,  and  the  certainty  of  a  mission. 

I  saw  an  elderly  woman  at  the  Kurhaus  one  day,  who  un- 
doubtedly weighed  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  She  goes  to 
Ems  every  year,  I  was  informed,  and  never  fails  to  make  her 
appearance  at  eight  o'clock  to  drink  five  or  six  glasses  of  the 
water.  She  resides  at  Mayence ;  actually  believes  she  has  the 
consumption,  and  that  nothing  but  the  Ems  spring  keeps  her 
alive.  The  story  goes  that  her  physician,  a  shrewd  fellow, 
knowing  her  to  be  very  rich,  continues  to  get  a  large  sum  from 
her  annually  by  pretending  to  defer  her  funeral,  which  but  for 
him  would  certainly  take  place.  I  am  convinced,  after  look- 
ing at  her,  that  she  is  suffering  from  the  dropsy,  caused  by  the 
excessive  imbibition  of  waters,  and  that  two  or  three  more 
seasons  of  hydropathic  treatment  will  put  her  under  the  sod. 

I  noticed  a  rosy  English  girl  who  paid  her  regular  devo- 
tion to  the  springs.  She  labored  under  the  delusion  that  she 
had  an  affection  of  the  heart.  Perhaps  she  had :  it  is  a  com- 
mon feminine  complaint;  but  it  never  proves  fatal.  She 
looked  like  a  young  woman  who  might  suffer  in  that  way,  and 
cause  others  to  suffer ;  but  that  she  was  afflicted  with  any  dis- 
ease is  preposterous.  I  should  as  soon  suspect  Hebe  of  having 
the  dyspepsia. 

Generally  the  gambling  is  not  heavy,  but  sometimes  an 
ambitious  player  entertains  hopes  of  breaking  the  bank,  and 
succeeds  in  breaking  himself. 


SCHEME   TO  BREAK  THE  BANK.  351 

Last  season  several  Russians,  with  a  joint  capital  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  florins,  formed  a  scheme  of  the 
kind.  They  had  figured  it  out  to  their  complete  satisfaction 
that  they  could  accomplish  their  object  in  one  evening.  They 
played  for  three  nights,  and,  at  the  end  of  the  third  night, 
they  lost  everything  they  had.  One  of  them,  it  is  said,  en- 
deavored to  hang  himself  in  his  room  at  the  hotel,  but,  being 
discovered,  he  declared  he  was  merely  trying  a  philosophic 
experiment. 

I  remember,  at  Ems,  one  of  the  mysterious  women  who 
always  haunt  such  places.  No  one  knew  her.  She  avoided 
making  acquaintances,  and  seemed  very  desirous  to  part  with 
her  money.  She  was  dark-eyed  and  dark-haired,  probably  a 
Spaniard.  Her  diamonds  were  splendid,  and  several  Hebrew 
gentlemen  had  hope  she  might  be  compelled  to  pawn  them. 
She  was  singularly  imperturbable — her  face  statue-like  in  its 
perfect  repose.  She  was  extremely  generous,  giving  away 
napoleons  where  others  gave  florins,  so  that  she  was  the  wor- 
shipped of  lackeys. 

There  were  all  sorts  of  stories  concerning  her.  One  that 
her  husband  married  her  for  money  and  would  not  leave  her, 
because  she  was  rich,  though  she  had  requested  him  to  do  so. 
She  had  taken  the  Ems  mode  of  reducing  her  fortune.  An- 
other report  was  that  she  had  gotten  her  means  by  some  unre- 
vealed  crime,  and  wanted  to  lose  because  its  possession  troubled 
her  conscience.  The  gossips  even  intimated  that  murder  was 
the  source  of  her  wealth,  while  others  said  she  was  formerly 
a  nun ;  that  she  had  run  away  with  a  Sicilian  pirate,  who  died 
and  left  her  a  large  fortune.  My  own  opinion  is,  that  she  was 
simply  a  discontented  woman  of  ample  means,  who  found  in 
play  the  excitement  she  needed,  and  could  not  get  otherwise. 

At  Ems  I  heard  much  of  a  Russian  prince — princes  in 
Russia  are  plenty  as  windmills  in  Holland — who  looked  like 
a  German,  though  his  face  was  less  square  than  the  average 
type  of  the  Teutonic  race.  He  was  not  more  than  thirty,  but 
seemed  five-and-forty.  A  more  thoroughly  blase  being  I  never 
saw.    He  merely  played  for  sensation ;  but  drinking  aquafortis 


352  A  PRINCELY  BLACKGUARD. 

would  hardly  have  given  him  one.  He  did  not  take  up  his 
stakes  when  he  won,  but  let  them  lie  until  the  turn  of  fortune 
swept  them  all  away.  He  broke  the  bank  one  night,  summer 
before  last,  when  he  was  too  tipsy  to  see,  and  the  next  season 
he  tried  to  do  it  again  by  keeping  drunk  constantly.  He  was 
very  wealthy,  having  inherited  a  large  fortune  from  his  mother, 
and  having  married  another,  owned  by  a  gentle  and  lovable 
woman,  who,  for  all  her  virtues,  was  rewarded  with  a  profligate 
husband. 

iWhy  is  it  that  the  best  and  sweetest  women  are  so  often 
wedded  to  brutes  and  scoundrels?  5  The  prince  was  dissipated 
in  every  way.  He  drank  vodka,  the  liquid  fire  of  his  own 
country,  because  cognac  was  not  strong  enough  for  him ;  had 
all  sorts  of  vulgar  liaisons ;  showed  his  wife's  letters  to  the 
coarsest  women,  and  picked  his  teeth  at  the  table.  And  yet 
he  was  a  veritable  prince  by  blood,  and  a  veritable  blackguard 
by  instinct. 

One  evening,  as  I  was  smoking  a  cigar  and  lounging 
through  the  gardens  of  the  new  bath-house,  I  picked  up  a 
small  and  handsomely-worked  purse.  Presuming  I  should  soon 
find  the  loser,  I  did  not  open  it,  but  continued  my  stroll,  carry- 
ing the  purse  in  my  hand. 

At  the  next  turn  in  the  walk  I  encountered  a  pretty  and 
elegantly-dressed  young  woman,  and  noticed  by  the  glare  of 
the  lamps  that  she  was  looking  for  something,  and  that  she 
was  one  of  the  many  adventuresses  who  frequent  the  gambling 
spas.     I  felt  sure  she  was  the  owner  of  the  purse. 

"  Have  you  lost  a  purse  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  yes !  (very  eagerly.)  Do  you  know  anything  about 
it?" 

"  Here  it  is ; "  and  I  gave  it  to  her. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you.  There  is  little  in  it, 
but  it  is  a  good  deal  just  now.  I  want  the  money  to  take 
me  back  to  Paris." 

As  I  said,  "I  am  very  glad  you  have  recovered  it,"  I 
threw  away  my  cigar. 

Feminine  eyes  are  always  observant. 


CONFESSIONS   OF  AN  ADVENTURESS.  353 

,     "  You  need  not  have  thrown  away  your  cigar." 

"  I  never  smoke  in  the  society  of  women." 

"  You  are  an  American." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"Your  French  betrays  it;  and  you  don't  smoke  in  the 
presence  of  women.     Oh!  I  am  very  tired  and  heated." 

"You  look  so.  Why  don't  you  sit  down?  Good  even- 
ing." 

"You  are  not  going?  I  see — you  avoid  me;  you  know 
what  I  am,  and  you  despise  me." 

"  I  know  what  you  are,  but  I  don't  despise  you." 

"  I  feel  excessively  lonely  to-night.  Won't  you  sit  down 
on  this  bench  ?  Light  another  cigar.  I  like  smoking.  What 
is  your  opinion  of  such  women  as  I  am  ? " 

"  That  they  are  unfortunate." 

"I'm  not  unfortunate,  sir.  I  am  much  more  contented 
than  many  better  women.    I  believe  I'm  really  happy,  often." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  madame.  I  wish  everybody  in 
this  world,  and  out  of  it,  were  happy ;  but  I  should  hardly 
have  looked  for  happiness  in  one  of  your  class." 

"Why  not,  pray?" 

"  Your  life  must  be  so  full  of  deceit  and  anxiety,  that  I 
don't  see  how  you  can  be  at  peace  with  yourself." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  my  life  ?  " 

"Nothing,  madame;  I  only  surmise  it." 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  my  life  ? " 

"  To  be  candid,  I  should." 

"  Well,  I'll  "tell  you  my  story,  though  you  may  not  believe 
it ;  for  when  we  women  volunteer  confessions,  we  usually  make 
them  for  the  sake  of  concealing  a  falsehood." 

"  That  is  not  generally  true." 

"  You  have  a  high  opinion  of  women." 

^s^es ;  I  believe  they  are  usually  what  men  make  of  them.  | 
If  they  go  wrong,  where  circumstances   are  not  to  blame, 
man  is." 

"  That's  delightful.     In  Paris  no  man  trusts  women,  and 
consequently  nowhere  else  is  he  so  much  deceived.     But  to 
23 


354  A   STRANGE  STOET. 

begin :  I  am  the  illegitimate  daughter  of  a  wealthy  bankar 
and  a  grisette.  My  father  gave  me  a  fine  education,  and  would 
have  left  me  a  handsome  property,  if  he  had  not  failed  and 
died  soon  after.  I  was  still  at  school ;  but  thrown  on  my  own 
resources,  I  was  obliged  to  do  something.  I  went  into  a  shop, 
and  received  eight  hundred  francs  a  year,  for  I  was  pretty  and 
clever.  My  tastes  were  extravagant,  and  I  soon  felt  cramped 
for  means,  for  I  had  a  passion  for  dress  and  jewelry.  I  had 
many  admirers  the  first  month  of  my  shop  life,  and  numerous 
were  the  propositions  made  me.  I  rejected  them  at  first; 
but  at  last  I  fell  in  love  with  a  young  fellow,  and,  when  he 
wooed  me,  I  was  easily  won.  I  believed  him  the  most  glori- 
ous creature  in  the  world,  and  I  used  to  lie  at  his  feet  and  be 
perfectly  happy  if  he  only  looked  at  me.  I  kept  my  place  in 
the  shop,  for  he  wanted  me  to.  I  gave  him  all  my  earnings, 
and  would  have  toiled  night  and  day  to  win  his  smile.  Soon 
he  treated  me  brutally — still  I  loved  him;  and  finally  he 
wanted  a  miniature  of  my  father  that  I  prized  most  highly, 
and  when  I  begged  him  on  my  knees  not  to  take  it,  he  beat 
me  and  deserted  me. 

"I  vowed  to  Heaven  then,  I  would  never  care  for  any 
man  again ;  that  I  would  flatter  your  sex  for  my  own  ends, 
and  enjoy  life  to  the  utmost.  I  got  a  new  place  in  the  Boule- 
vards at  twelve  hundred  francs — a  large  salary  for  a  woman  in 
Paris — and  soon  I  had  scores  of  fashionable  fellows  at  my  feet. 
They  gave  me  costly  presents,  and  I  had  no  need  of  being  a 
clerk,  but  I  thought  it  added  to  my  means  of  attraction. 

"  I  was  really  happy,  and  should  have  continued  to  be  if 
I  had  not  formed  another  attachment  for  a  literary  man,  who 
did  not  like  me  at  first.  I  tried  to  conceal  my  love ;  but  one 
evening,  when  I  was  alone  with  him,  he  said  something  kind 
to  me,  and,  bursting  into  tears,  I  revealed  my  secret. 

"  My  love  touched  him.  He  was  a  gentleman,  and  very 
tender,  and  even  grew  fond  of  me  because  I  loved  him  so.  I 
wanted  more  than  fondness,  and  I  became  so  wretched  that  I 
tried  to  drown  myself  in  the  Seine ;  but  I  was  dragged  out. 
JMy  cold  bath  cured  me,  and  I  changed  my  life. 


ACTUAL  AND  IDEAL  LOSSES.  355 

"  I  quitted  the  shop  and  resolved  to  live  by  my  charms.  I 
had  great  success  from  the  start.  I  seemed  to  attract  all  men. 
I  had  counts  and  advocates,  artists  and  authors,  in  my  train, 
and  I  accepted  the  wealthy — was  kind  to  all  and  true  to  none. 

"I  really  enjoyed  the  life  I  led — it  was  so  gay,  so  luxuri- 
ous, so  exciting.  But,  alas !  I  was  a  third  time  a  victim  to  my 
heart,  and  of  course  wretchedness  followed. 

"My  third  conqueror  not  only  did  not  love  me,  but  loved 
somebody  else.  I  thought  I  had  steeled  my  heart ;  but  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  always  be  weak  there.  For  three  years  now  I 
have  lived  on  excitement,  and  been  quite  happy.  I  have  no 
remorse,  no  regret.  I  don't  believe  in  anything,  save  when 
I'm  foolish  enough  to  fall  in  love ;  and  if  I  can  shut  up  my 
heart,  I  shall  be  contented.  I  ha^e  lost  all  my  money  this 
evening,  and  have  only  enough  to  return  home,  as  I  have 
said ;  but  I  can  get  more." 

"But  what  will  be  the  end  of  all  this  ? " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  don't  think ;  I  don't  care,  except  in  my 
lonely  hours,  of  which  this  is  one.  When  I  am  no  longer 
young  or  fair,  I  shall,  if  I  get  poor  and  wretched,  buy  char- 
coal, and  go  to  heaven." 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  go  there  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  any  place.  I  am  not  wicked.  I  have  harmed  no 
One,  and  I'd  be  a  different  woman  if  some  good,  generous  man 
had  really  loved  me.     Adieu." 

"  She  was  French,"  some  reader  says. 

Yes ;  but  she  was  also  a  woman. 

I  myself  had  losses  at  Ems,  which,  if  I  were  called  upon  to 
put  into  form,  I  should  give  in  our  currency  after  this  fashion : 

Ems,  .  To  the  undersigned — Dr. 

To  seven  pieces  of  linen  unreturned  by  the  laundress,       -        -        -  $20 

(N.  B. — Ems  laundresses  never  make  proper  returns.) 

To  five  attacks  of  nausea  at  seeing  patients  drink  the  waters,           -  500 
To  one  hundred  efforts  to  admire  women  who  thought  they  were 

pretty  and  were  not, 1,000 

To  two  napoleons  laid  on  table  and  not  picked  up,         -  8 

To  sums  I  should  have  won,  and  didn't, 150,000 

Total, -        .        -     $151,528 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 

THE   EMPEKOR   WILLIAM   AND   THE   CKOWN    PRINCE. 

|0  man  of  mediocre  ability,  in  this  generation, 
has  attracted  so  much  attention,  or  risen  to  such 
an  eminence,  as  William  I.,  now  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many. Above  most  mortals  is  he  indebted  to  for- 
tune, which  from  the  first  has  been  on  his  side. 
What  he  was,  he  owes  to  his  ancestors,  and  to  the 
good  luck  of  his  brother's  incapacity  and  death. 
What  he  is,  he  owes  to  his  Minister,  who  has  unquestionably 
the  best  brain  in  Europe.  Bismarck,  like  Richelieu,  Mazarin, 
and  Colbert,  has  done  vastly  more  for  his  monarch  than  the 
monarch  could  have  done  for  himself.  William  has  stepped  to 
his  high  imperial  position  from  the  shoulders  of  his  Chan- 
cellor. 

The  new  Emperor,  the  second  son  of  Frederic  William  III., 
and  brother  of  Frederic  William  IV.,  was  born  March  22, 
1797;  entered  the  military  service,  as  is  the  custom  of  the 
royal  family  of  Prussia,  at  a  very  early  age,  and  took  part  in 
the  campaigns  of  1813  and  1815  against  France.  He  was 
present  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo  in  the  capacity  of  a  staff 
officer ;  but  as  he  was  little  more  than  eighteen,  it  is  not  prob- 
able that  he  rendered  very  effective  service.  In  1840  he  be- 
came Grand  Master  of  the  Masonic  order  of  the  kingdom. 
On  the  accession  of  his  brother  to  the  throne  he  was  appointed 
Governor  of  Pomerania,  and  seven  years  later  a  member  of  the 
first  General  Diet.  When  the  democratic  outbreak  took  place 
in  Berlin  during  March,  1848,  William,  who  was  regarded  as 
an  absolutist,  was  forced  to  fly  to  England,  whence  he  returned 


EMPEKOR  WILLIAM. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  EMPEROR.  357 

three  months  after,  and  accepted  the  office  of  Deputy  in  the 
National  Assembly.  The  following  year,  as  commander  of  the 
forces,  he  repressed  the  insurrection  in  Baden  in  a  very  short 
campaign.  During  the  Crimean  war  he  was  supposed  to  be 
in  favor  of  the  allies  against  Russia,  and  altogether  hostile  to 
the  passive  policy  of  the  Prussian  Government  at  that  time. 
In  the  autumn  of  1857  he  was  entrusted  with  the  direction  of 
the  government  on  account  of  the  physical  and  mental  infirm- 
ity of  the  reigning  King.  This  trust,  having  been  several 
times  renewed,  in  October,  1858,  he  was  made  Regent,  and  on 
the  death  of  his  brother  became  King,  January  2,  1861. 

In  July  of  the  same  year  a  German  student  named  Decker 
attempted  to  assassinate  William  at  Baden-Baden.  The  bullet 
from  the  would-be  regicide's  pistol  grazed  the  King's  shoulder, 
tearing  his  coat ;  and  this  circumstance  actually  induced  Wil- 
liam to  believe  that  his  life  was  saved  by  an  interposition  of 
Providence,  and  strengthened  his  conviction  of  the  divinity  of 
Ins  own  kingship,  if  not  of  kingships  in  general.  Though 
never  suspected  of  any  remarkable  military  ability,  he  has 
taken  a  prominent  part,  by  reason  of  his  royalty,  in  all  the 
wars  waged  by  Prussia  against  other  powers,  and  was  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  army  in  the  brief  but  brilliant  struggle 
which  enabled  him  to  dictate  terms  to  Austria  at  the  very 
gates  of  Vienna.  In  the  late  war  against  France  he  has  been, 
after  Bismarck,  the  foremost  figure ;  and  the  supremely  splen- 
did triumphs  of  Germany,  and  his  investment  with  the  impe- 
rial purple,  have  been  enough  to  fill  the  measure  of  the  most 
ambitious  man's  ambition.  The  one  drop  of  dissatisfaction  in 
his  overflowing  cup  of  self-congratulation  may  be  the  conscious- 
ness that  he  owes  his  shining  laurels  to  another,  and  that  that 
other  is  wholly  mindful  of  the  manner  in  which  the  imperial 
greatness  has  been  achieved. 

Though  now  in  his  seventy-fifth  year,  he  seems  as  hale  and 
vigorous  as  the  Crown  Prince ;  having  endured  all  the  severe 
campaigning  of  last  winter  as  a  man  of  forty  might  have  done. 
The  Emperor  William  is  no  more  princely  or  royal  in  appear- 
ance than  Louis  Napoleon.     He  has  an  honest,  frank,  plain, 


358 


MIS  DOMESTIC  LIFE. 


might 


but  by  no  means  striking  or  even  noticeable  face.  He 
be  mistaken  for  a  sturdy  and  prosperous  burgher,  well  satisfied 
with  himself  and  his  circumstances,  capable  of  enjoying  andr 
certain  of  getting  a  good  dinner.  He  is  unmistakably  of  the 
blond  German  type — his  features  large  and  rather  heavy,  an- 
swering to  his  stalwart  and  muscular  frame.  He  is  thoroughly 
a  soldier,  and  little  else — candid,  direct,  even  bluff — possessing 
few  words  for  courtesy,  and  none  for  ornament.  Born  to  the' 
common  lot,  he  would  probably  have  risen  to  the  command  of 
a  regiment — perhaps  of  a  brigade ;  would  have  done  his  duty 
always;  have  left  a  good  record,  and  died  with  a  favorable 
mention  in  the  Military  Gazette. 

In  his  thirty-first  year  he  married  the  Duchess  Maria 
Louisa  Augusta  Catherine  of  Saxe-Weimar,  by  whom  he  has 
had  two  children,  the  Crown  Prince,  and  Louisa  Maria,  married 
in  1856  to  the  Grand  Duke  Frederic  of  Baden.  Much  was 
said  during  the  Franco-German  war  of  William's  model  do- 
mesticity as  displayed  in  his  military  despatches  to  Augusta. 

His  reputation  as  a  loyal  hus- 
band in  Berlin  is  not  so  firmly 
established  as  it  might  be ;  and 
the  reports  that  the  royal  pair 
have  not  been  wholly  harmoni- 
ous have  been  by  no  means  con- 
fined to  the  circles  of  the  Court. 
Perhaps  his  last  war  has  im- 
proved the  venerable  monarch, 
and  it  may  be  that  he  observes 
as  Emperor  all  the  Command- 
ments, which  as  King  he  found 
difficult  to  keep. 
Frederic  William,  presumptive  heir  to  the  tnrone,  whose 
title  is  Crown  Prince,  was  born  October  18,  1831.  He  is 
Lieutenant-General  of  the  army,  Inspector  of  the  First  Di- 
vision, Commander  of  the  First  Division  of  Infantry  of  the 
Guard,  Chief  of  the  First  Regiment  of  Grenadiers  of  Eastern 
Prussia  number  one,  and  the  occupant  of  at  least  a  dozen  other 


THE    EMPEKOK  S    PALACE — BERLIN. 


FREDERIC    WILLIAM. 


359 


military  offices.  Like  all  members  of  the  royal  family,  lie  re- 
ceived a  strict  military  education,  and  entered  the  army  at  a  very 
early  age.  He  has  seen  much  service  in  the  field,  and  has 
always  distinguished  himself  as  a  most  competent  and  cour- 
ageous soldier.     In  the  war  with  Austria,  he  commanded  the 


FRINCE  FREDERIC  WILLIAM. 


Army  of  the  Oder,  and  by  his  gallantry  did  much  to  gain  the 
splendid  victory  at  Sadowa.  In  January,  1858,  he  married 
the  Princess  Victoria,  eldest  daughter  o'f  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land, and  has  had  by  the  union  five  children.  The  alliance  is 
said  to  be  an  unhappy  one ;  the  princess  never  having  had,  as 
is  stated,  any  affection  for  or  sympathy  with  him.     She  was 


360 


HIS  FUTURE  AS  EMPEROR. 


wedded  for  reasons  of  State,  not  from  any  prompting  of  her 
heart ;  and  I  remember  at  the  time  of  her  nuptials,  that  it  was 
publicly  declared  that  she  went  to  the  altar  bathed  in  tears, 
which  were  not  the  tears  of  joyous  emotion,  as  is  usual  in  such 
cases,  but  the  tears  of  disappointment,  despondency,  and  dis- 
tress. The  Crown  Prince  is  a  man  of  decided  force  and  char- 
acter, and  seems  to  have  many  amiable  and  pleasant  qualities ; 
but  he  has  never  been  able,  apparently,  to  render  himself  either 
interesting  or  lovable  to  his  wife.  No  doubt  he  would  have 
been  an  excellent  husband  to  many  women ;  but  his  wife  is 
not  of  the  number.  The  loose  propensities  of  his  father  are 
charged  upon  him ;  and  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that 
the  current  of  marital  loyalty  does  not  flow  uninterruptedly 
in  the  Hohenzollern  blood. 

The    Crown    Prince    is    a    tall,    well-formed,    good-look- 

_^-  ■^^K^s^^j^MS^^       mg  fellow,  with  clear  blue 

Hi  eyes,  flaxen  hair,  and  pro- 
Jp  nounced  but  regular  fea- 
?2  tures.  He  is  popular  both 
with  the  army  and  the 
people—  probably  for  the 
reason  that  he  is  regarded 
as  much  more  liberal  than 
his  father,  who  has  never 
awakened  any  enthusiasm 
If  among  his  subjects.  He  is 
represented  as  cynical  in 
speech,  but  kind  of  heart, 
generous  in  sentiment  and  action,  and  singularly  free  from 
affectation  or  ostentation.  The  Liberals  of  Germany  have 
much  hope  of  Frederic  William  when  he  ascends  the  throne, 
which,  in  the  nature  of  things,  he  must  do  ere  long.  Unless 
he  undergo  some  great  change,  he  will  be  far  more  welcome 
than  his  father  has  been,  to  whose  death  his  subjects  will  be 
duly  resigned. 


PALACE   OP  THE   CBOWN  PRINCE. 


CHAPTEK  XLVIL 

THE   PRUSSIAN   AKMY   &KD   ITS   CHIEFS. 

HE  Prussian  military  organization,  the  most 
effective  which  exists  at  present  in  any  coun- 
try, is  founded  on  the  principle  that  every 
citizen  owes  service  to  the  land  of  his  birth. 
Every  Prussian  is  by  law  a  soldier,  though  in 
consequence  of  the  limitation  of  the  army,  all  citizens 
may  not  be  compelled  to  enter  it  except  in  extreme 
cases.  The  regular  army  is  composed  of  men  of  from 
twenty  to  twenty-five  years  of  age,  whose  active  term 
of  service  is  three  years.  For  students,  teachers,  and  profes- 
sional men  generally,  the  term  of  service  is  one  year  only. 
After  serving  his  term  in  the  regular  army,  the  Prussian  enters 
the  landwehr  (the  militia),  divided  into  two  levies — the  first 
including  all  men  between  twenty-six  and  thirty-two,  and  the 
second  all  men  between  thirty-three  and  thirty-nine  years  of 
age.  The  first  levy  spends  several  weeks  every  year  in  drilling 
and  acquiring  the  duties  of  practical  soldiers,  and  in  the  event 
of  war  is  employed  like  the  regular  army.  The  second  levy 
is  subject  to  be  ordered  out  in  time  of  war  for  the  purpose  of 
garrisoning  fortresses.  All  citizens  over  thirty-nine,  and  under 
sixty  years,  make  up  the  irregular  militia  (landsturm),  who,  in 
case  of  an  invasion  of  a  country,  act  as  a  home  guard,  but  are 
never  called  out  for  offensive  action,  save  in  extreme  cases. 
The  regular  army  consists  of  infantry,  cavalry,  artillery,  and 
pioneers.  The  first  levy  of  the  landwehr  is  composed  of 
thirty-six  regiments,  and  eight  batallions  of  reserve  infantry 
(116  batallions  in  all),  and  of  thirty-four  regiments  and  eight 


3 02  PRINCE  FREDERIC   CHARLES. 

reserve  companies  (144  companies),  of  cavalry.  The  army  is 
divided  into  a  corps  of  guards  (head-quarters  at  Berlin),  and 
eight  army  corps,  each  corps  numbering  during  war  23,000  in- 
fantry, 4,800  cavalry,  and  88  field  pieces. 

The  advantage*  of  such  a  military  organization  over  con- 
scription, as  in  France,  from  which  immunity  may  be  pur- 
chased, has  been  shown  again  and  again  on  well-fought  fields, 
and  never  more  convincingly  than  during  the  late  war.  The 
system  insures  educated  soldiers,  and  is  despotically  democratic 
inasmuch  as  it  makes  no  distinction  as  to  rank,  position  or  in- 
fluence. The  Germans  owe  their  extraordinary  success  over 
the  French  more  to  the  superiority  of  their  private  soldiers,  to 
their  self-discipline  and  educated  courage  than  to  anything 
else.  The  French  have  been  the  most  military  nation  in  Eu- 
rope ;  but  over-weaning  confidence  in  themselves,  ignorance 
of  others,  want  of  intelligence  and  patience  under  defeat,  have 
contributed  to  their  overthrow.  The  late  war,  with  all  its  disas- 
ters, must  result  in  good  to  the  nation.  It  will  make  them 
freer ;  insure  a  system  of  general  education ;  open  their  eyes 
to  the  fallacy  that  military  glory  should  be  the  chief  end  and 
aim  of  a  country  determined  to  be  great.  Behind  all  the 
clouds  of  the  present  the  sun  is  rising,  which  will  make  France 
fairer  and  brighter,  better  and  nobler  than  she  has  ever  been. 

Of  the  numerous  German  generals  in  the  late  war,  I  shall 
make  mention  onty  of  the  few  who  have  been  most  prominent 
before  the  public.  • 

Probably,  the  ablest  commander  in  the  field  is  Prince 
Frederic  Charles,  son  of  the  popular  Prince  Frederic,  and 
nephew  of  the  Emperor  William.  He  was  born  March  20, 
1828,  and  entered  the  army  when  hardly  ten  years  old.  He  is 
a  soldier  by  nature,  having  studied  the  campaigns  of  Frederic 
the  Great  for  weeks  and  months  when  a  mere  boy,  and  having 
spent  whole  nights  over  the  "  Seven  Years  "War." 

In  his  twentieth  year  he  took  part  in  the  Schleswig-Holstein 
contest,  having  been  assigned  to  the  staff  of  the  commander-in- 
chief,  and  was  noted  for  his  daring,  especially  at  the  battle  of 
Schleswig,  where  he  exposed  his  life  most  recklessly.     A  year 


A  DESPERATE  BATTLE. 


303 


later,  he  distinguished  himself  at  Baden,  and,  during  the  fif- 
teen years  of  peace  which  followed,  he  studied  hard,  and  made 
himself  acquainted  with  all  the  branches  and  details  of  military 
science.  lie  commanded  a  Prussian  division  in  the  war  against 
Denmark.     Observing  that  Diippell,  a  strongly-fortified  place, . 


PRINCE    FREDERIC   CHARLES. 


was  the  key  to  some  of  the  best  Danish  positions,  he  deter- 
mined to  assault  it.  Twice  he  attacked,  and  twice  he  and  his 
brave  followers  were  repulsed  with  great  loss  of  life ;  but  a 
third  time  he  rallied  them,  and,  with  the  flag  of  the  regiment 
of  royal  guards  in  his  hand,  he  led  them  to  a  bloody  victory. 
The  Prince  was  called  to  the  command  of  the  first  division 


364  GENERAL    VON  MOLTKE. 

of  the  Prussian  army  in  the  Austrian  war,  and  gained  many 
laurels  by  his  skill  and  courage.  He  contributed  greatly  to  the 
brilliant  success  of  the  Prussians  at  Sadowa.  He  sent  word  to 
the  Crown  Prince  to  cooperate  with  him  in  attacking  the 
Austrians  in  a  position  fortunately  chosen  and  well  defended 
by  artillery ;  but  without  waiting  for  his  cousin  to  come  up, 
hurled  himself  "with  tremendous  force  against  the  foe.  He 
was  driven  back  in  spite  of  the  most  heroic  bravery;  but, 
renewing  the  attack  with  the  aid  of  the  Crown  Prince,  the 
enemy  was  forced  to  retreat,  and  the  day  and  the  war  were  won. 

Frederic  Charles  is  the  author  of  many  reforms  in  the 
army ;  is  a  superb  tactician,  and  understands  equally  well  the 
theory  and  the  practice  of  war.  He  is  tall,  well-built,  muscu- 
lar and  energetic  in  movement.  His  face  is  grave,  even  stern,  in 
repose,  but  pleasant  and  winning  in  social  converse.  His  man- 
ners are  rather  brusque :  he  talks  but  little,  for  his  habits  are 
military,  and  his  temperament  taciturn.  He  looks  older  than 
he  is,  which  may  be  accounted  for  by  his  severe  studies  and  his 
general  inclination  to  hard  work.  Many  of  the  victories  of  the 
Germans  in  the  late  war  must  be  ascribed  to  Prince  Frederic 
Charles,  who  crowned  himself  during  the  terrible  struggle  with 
new  military  honors. 

Helmuth  Charles  Yon  Moltke,  now  a  Baron,  born  at 
Gnewitz,  in  Mecklenburg-Schwerin,  October  26,  1800,  en- 
tered the  service  of  Denmark  early  in  life,  and  afterward  that 
of  Prussia.  In  1835  he  made  a  voyage  to  the  Orient,  and  was 
presented  to  the  Sultan  Mahmoud.  He  obtained  a  furlough 
from  his  government  to  superintend  military  reforms  in  Tur- 
key, and  assisted  at  the  campaign  in  Syria  in  1839.  Return- 
ing to  Prussia,  he  was  made  aide-de-camp  in  1846  to  Prince 
Henry,  who  had  retired  to  Rome;  ten  years  later  served 
Prince  Frederic  "William  in  the  same  capacity,  and  soon  after 
was  chosen  chief-of-staif  of  the  army.  He  was  prominent  in 
the  Danish  war ;  prepared  the  plan  of  campaign  against  Austria ; 
was  chosen  general  of  infantry,  and  accompanied  the  Emperor, 
then  King  William,  to  the  field.  After  Sadowa  he  was  deco- 
rated with  the  order  of  the  Black  Eagle. 


AUTHOR   OF  THE  FRENCH  CAMPAIGN. 


365 


It  is  said  that  the  plan  of  the  campaign  against  France  was 
drawn  up  by  Moltke  before  the  Rhine  had  been  crossed,  and 
that  it  was  followed  rigidly,  with  very  few  variations.  It  is 
quite  clear  now  that  the  Germans  were  better  acquainted  with 
the  resources  of  the  French  than  were  the  French  themselves. 
They  knew  every  line  of  defence,  and  the  strength  of  every 


BAEON    VON    MOLTKE. 


fortified  position,  and  had  drawings  of  all  the  fortresses  in  the 
country.  They  knew  how  weak  the  enemy  was,  while  the 
enemy  himself  had  never  suspected  the  fact. 

Moltke  is  a  hale,  vigorous,  cheerful  old  man,  with  whom 
powder-burning  seems  to  agree.  He  is  a  universal  favorite  ; 
enjoys  a  pipe,  a  good  story,  and  a  glass  of  beer,  as  much  as  any 


366  OTHER   PROMINENT   GENERALS. 

son  of  Fatherland.  His  years  do  not  seem  to  have  told  upon 
him  at  all,  and  he  is  fond  of  saying  that  young  men  like  him- 
self can  bear  any  amount  of  hardship  or  exposure.  He  looks 
every  inch  a  soldier.  His.  face  is  severe  when  in  repose, 
and  expresses  a  determined  will.  His  features  are  neither  reg- 
ular nor  handsome ;  but  his  eye  and  chin  are  the  kind  one 
would  select  for  the  leader  of  a  forlorn  hope.  He  is  now,  I  be-  •» 
lieve,  a  widower,  and  childless. 

Another  very  young  old  man  is  Charles  Frederic  de 
Steinmetz,  born  December  27,  1796.  He  served  in  the  cam- 
paigns against  Napoleon,  and  later  in  life  was  employed  a 
number  of  years  by  the  government  in  topographical  engineer- 
ing. He  was  active  in  the  war  of  the  duchies ;  played  a  prom- 
inent part  in  the  brief ,  contest  with  Austria,  and  in  1867  was 
elected  member  of  the  diet  of  North  Germany.  Very  soon 
after  Sedan,  he  was  removed  from  his  command  for  pressing 
the  enemy  too  vigorously,  and  thereby  deranging  one  of  Yon 
Moltke's  excellent  plans. 

General  Yon  Werder  did  much  of  the  heavy  fighting  that 
preceded  the  close  of  the  war,  and  is  a  well-trained  and  capa- 
ble soldier.  He  has  seen  nearly  half  a  century  of  service. 
He  was  for  some  time  under  the  command  of  the  Crown  Prince, 
and  on  one  occasion  is  said  to  have  saved  the  life  of  the  heir 
apparent. 

Albert  Theodore  Yon  Roon,  born  in  Colberg,  April  30, 
1803,  was  educated  at  the  Prussian  military  school,  and  after- 
ward became  a  military  teacher  at  Berlin.  In  his  twenty- 
eighth  year  he  entered  the  army,  and  advanced  step  by  step 
until  he  was  made  a  Major-General  in  1858,  and  subsequently 
minister  of  war.  During  the  Austrian  campaign,  he  proved  to 
what  excellence  the  process  of  mobilization  had  been  carried  in 
Prussia,  and  by  his  knowledge  and  skill  did  much  to  secure  the 
triumph  of  his  country. 

Edwin  Charles  Manteuffel,  born  February  24,  1809,  is  the 
son  of  the  president  of  the  superior  court  of  Magdeburg.  At 
seventeen,  he  entered  the  Dragoons  of  the  Guard ;  filled  va- 
rious military  and  diplomatic  positions ;  was  sent  to  St.  Peters- 


GEXERAL  MANTEUFFEL. 


3G7 


burg  to  render  the  Czar  favorable  to  the  overrunning  of  Ger- 
many by  Prussia,  and  proved  himself,  on  the  whole,  an  excel- 
lent and  valuable  servant  to  the  Crown.  As  a  man  he  is  stern 
and  severe,  and  has  been  frequently  charged  with  oppressing 
his  own  countrymen.  He  is  an  earnest  advocate  of  duty 
under  all  circumstances,  and  does  not  hesitate  to  discharge  it 
himself  at  whatever  cost  to  the  feelings  of  others.  He  has 
never  been  popular ;  but  he  is  much  liked  by  the  Emperor 
and  Bismarck,  whose  too  willing  tool  he  has  often  been  ac- 
cused of  being.  Manteuffel  is  thoroughly  a  soldier,  and  looks 
a  good  deal  like  General  Fremont.  Careless  of  the  graces  and 
amenities  of  life,  he  understands  only  what  it  is  to  order  and 
obey. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

MONT    CENIS. 

HE  railway  over  Mont  Cenis  does  not  detract 
from  the  romance  of  its  passage,  for  you  go 
over  it  very  much  as  in  a  diligence,  and  fol- 
low the  road  closely.  You  move  quite  slowly  in 
general,  so  as  to  enable  you  to  see  every  object. 
The  train  is  made  up  of  two  or  three  light  cars, 
and  as  I  hung  out  of  the  window  and  over  the  side, 
I  felt  as  if  I  were  walking  across  the  mountain.  The  grades 
are  the  heaviest  I  have  seen.  They  seem  as  if  they  must  be 
a  thousand  feet  to  the  mile,  and  the  sharpness  of  the  curves 
is  remarkable.  I  should  not  have  believed  the  engine  could 
pull  up  such  steeps  if  I  had  not  seen  it.  Looking  ahead  we 
noticed  the  track,  and  it  appeared  to  be  laid  at  an  angle  we 
could  not  surmount.  At  Lanslebourg,  where  we  stopped  for 
ten  minutes — it  is  at  the  base  of  Cenis — I  looked  up  at  the 
snowy  summits  so  far  above  us,  and  could  not  think  that  in 
less  than  an  hour  we  should  reach  them.  But  we  did,  though 
the  engine  had  all  it  could  do,  and  appeared  sometimes  as 
if  it  would  be  obliged  to  back  down  literally. 

When  we  were  at  the  top  of  Cenis  we  had  a  magnificent 
view,  worth  walking  there  to  see.  The  valley,  dotted  with 
cottages,  auberges,  and  hamlets  lay  below.  To  the  right  and 
left,  behind  and  before,  towered  the  Alpine  range,  snowy  and 
rocky  at  the  top,  green  with  fir  and  pines  on  the  sides  and  at 
the  brow.  Then  there  were  cascades  leaping  down  the  moun- 
tain sides,  ridges  and  rocks  of  magnificent  proportions,  dashes 
of  softness  and  wildness  of  beauty  and  sublimity  on  every 
hand  that  no  one  could  fail  to  admire. 


MAGNIFICENT  VIEW.  369 

Going  from  St.  Michel  to  Susa  you  get  a  just  idea  of  the 
entire  Alps,  save  the  glaciers.  They  all  pass  before  you  pan- 
orama like,  and  you  are  filled  with  their  varied  grandeur.  If 
any  one  has  not  the  time  to  visit  Switzerland,  he  can  have  the 
Alps  condensed  by  entering  Italy  by  way  of  Susa  and  Turin. 

Our  descent  to  Susa  was  toward  evening,  and  the  mellow 
moonlight  lent  a  fine  effect  to  the  scenery  we  whirled  through. 
I  was  reminded  of  a  confused  but  exciting  dream  of  gorgeous 
landscapes  tumbling  over  cataracts,  and  of  mountains  playing 
bo-peep  with  one  another.  I  could  have  sped  on  in  the  mood 
I  was  in  for  hours  and  hours  without  fatigue  ;  and  when  the 
train  paused  at  Susa,  it  was  with  a  sense  of  regret,  as  when 
one  is  waked  from  a  delightful  vision  of  the  night,  that  I  got 
out  of  the  little  box  of  a  car  in  which  I  had  enjoyed  five  hours 
of  the  best  sight-seeing  I  have  experienced  in  Europe. 

As  the  great  work  of  the  Mont  Cenis  Tunnel  is  completed, 
an  account  of  its  beginning  and  progress,  with  some  of  the  diffi- 
culties and  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its  continuance,  can  hardly 
be  without  interest. 

For  four  or  five  years  after  the  Tunnel  was  determined  on, 
the  matter  was  discussed  again  and  again  by  the  Italian  Par- 
liament and  press,  and  all  kinds  of  theories,  especially  of  the 
adverse  sort,  advanced  in  the  most  energetically  stupid  man- 
ner. A  great  many  men  who  claimed  to  be  supremely  scien- 
tific— there  is  no  simpleton  so  genuine  as  the  scientific  sim- 
pleton— made  it  clear  to  themselves  that  the  Tunnel  could 
not  by  any  possibility  be  made.  They  ransacked  their  imag- 
ination for  formidable  bugbears,  and  revealed  a  capacity  for 
suggesting  the  unknown  and  terrible  which  proved  their  in- 
tellectual right  to  rank  as  countrymen  of  Dante.  It  was 
gravely  predicted  that  all  the  workmen  who  engaged  in  the 
undertaking  would  perish  by  fire,  water,  and  noxious  gases ; 
that  all  the  elements,  in  a  word,  would  conspire  against  the 
audacity  and  folly  of  the  enterprise.  After  these  victims  of 
ingenious  fancy  had  demonstrated  that  it  was  entirely  useless 
to  attempt  the  work,  the  work  was  begun  in  serious  earnest, 
and  has  gone  on  steadily  ever  since.      The  obstacles,  though 


370  CONSTRUCTING  THE  TUNNEL. 

great  and  almost  countless,  have  been  altogether  of  a  different 
nature  from  those  that  were  prophesied. 

I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  why  the  name  of  Mont 
Cenis  should  be  attached  to  the  famous  Tunnel,  since  that 
mountain  is  17  or  18  miles  from  the  French  entrance  at  Four- 
neaux,  and  more  than  20  from  the  Italian  entrance  at  Bar- 
doneche.  The  Tunnel  passes  under  three  peaks,  called  the 
Col  Frejus,  the  Grand  Vallon,  and  the  Col  de  la  Roue ;  the 
first  being  on  the  French,  the  third  on  the  Italian  slope,  and 
the  second  almost  equi-distant  between  the  two.  Mont  Cenis 
enjoys  the  honor  of  the  Tunnel's  baptism,  I  presume,  from 
the  fact  that  it  is  much  better  known  than  any  of  the  sum- 
mits or  ranges  in  the  neighborhood ;  and,  moreover,  it  sim- 
plifies matters  to  give  the  Tunnel  a  name  which  does  not 
belong  to  it,  rather  than  to  call  it  after  any  one  of  the  three 
deserving  of  equal  distinction. 

The  most  direct  way  to  the  Tunnel  from  the  French  side  is 
to  go  by  rail  to  St.  Michel,  a  wretched  little  Savoyard  village, 
which  one  is  not  likely  to  forget,  particularly  if  obliged  to  stay 
over  night  at  the  Hotel  de  1'Union,  where  everything  is  boun- 
tifully supplied  but  cleanliness,  comfort,  and  convenience. 
From  St.  Michel  you  are  compelled  either  to  walk  or  ride  in 
some  rustic  conveyance  to  Fourneaux,  a  distance  of  about 
eight  miles,  which  seems  sixteen  before  you  arrive  at  your 
destination.  Fourneaux  is  a  miserable  hamlet  in  a  narrow 
gorge  in  the  valley  of  the  Arc,  the  inhabitants  of  which  are 
chiefly  remarkable  for  deformity  and  idiocy  of  the  most  re- 
pulsive sort.  The  Grand  Vallon  is  11,000  feet  above  the 
sea-level,  and  crowned  with  snow,  while  its 'sides  are  covered 
with  firs  and  pines  which  look  almost  black  under  a  cloudy 
sky.  All  about  the  valley  Alps  rise  on  Alps,  and  seem  to  shut 
it  in  from  the  outer  world.  The  scenery  is  grand  and  impos- 
ing, and,  like  most  of  that  in  Savoy  and  Switzerland,  in  mark- 
ed contrast  with  the  forbidding,  not  to  say  revolting,  appear- 
ance of  the  native  population. 

The  work  was  actually  begun  on  the  Italian  side  in  1857, 
and  continued  for  four  years,  when,  about  1,000  yards  having 


MACHINES  USED.  371 

been  completed,  the  perforators  were  called  into  requisition. 
The  common  mode  of  tunneling  is  to  sink  vertical  wells  at 
proper  distances,  and  work  through  from  one  to  the  other ; 
but  this  was  not  practicable  in  the  Mont  Cenis  enterprise,  as 
40  or  50  years  would  have  been  necessary  to  have  made  the 
wells  sufficiently  deep.     The  only  feasible  plan  was  to  begin 
boring  at  the  opposite  ends ;  and  then  the  difficulty  was  to 
supply  air  to  the  workmen  at  a  distance  of  two  or  three  miles 
from  the  outer  entrance.     The  ordinary  motive  power,  steam, 
needs  fire  for  its  generation,  and  fire  needs  air  for  its  support. 
Consequently  steam  could  not  be  used ;  and,  after  long  delib- 
eration and  countless  experiments,  compressed  air  was  em- 
ployed.    The  perforating  machine  that  has  wrought  the  Tun- 
nel is  moved  by  common  air  compressed  to  one-sixth  its  nat- 
ural bulk,  which,  when  liberated,  exercises  an  expansive  force 
equal  to  that  of  six  atmospheres.      The  machine  is  composed 
of  17  or  18  upright  iron  tubes,  in  which,  by  a  vibratory  motion 
caused  by  the  rise  and  fall  of  water,  and  regulated  by  pistons 
in  the  tubes,  the  air,  as  I  have  said,  is  compressed  one-sixth. 
As  the  piston  ascends  it  forces  the  water  up,  compressing  the 
air  and  driving  it  into  a  reservoir.     As  the  piston  descends  a 
valve  is  opened  near  the  top,  and  through  the  valve  the  air 
rushes  into  the  vacuum,  is  in  turn  compressed,  and  also  forced 
into  the  reservoir.     From  the  reservoir  a  large  iron  pipe,  ren- 
dered air-tight,  conveys  the  compressed  air  into  the  Tunnel. 
Ten  of  the  perforators  are  kept  constantly  at  work.  The  drills, 
working  by  the  compressed  air,  keep  steadily  boring  the  rock 
at  the  average  rate  of  nine  feet  a  day. 

During  the  surveys  preceding  the  selection  of  the  spot  for 
the  Tunnel,  it  was  discovered  that  the  Rivers  Arc  and  Dora 
in  their  windings  were'  at  a  certain  point  less  than  eight  miles 
apart,  and  at  this  point  it  was  evident  Nature  designed  the 
great  work  should  be  constructed.  The  mouth  of  the  Tunnel 
is  350  feet  above  the  level  of  the  valley,  as  was  necessary  from 
the  fact  that  the  valleys  of  the  Arc  and  the  Dora  are  at  differ- 
ent heights  above  the  sea-level.      The  inequality  is  regulated 


372  AN  UNDERGROUND  BLAST 

by  grades,  so  that,  entering  at  Fourneaux,  the  lower  side,  you 
come  out  at  Bardoneche  at  the  proper  level. 

For  some  time  after  the  Tunnel  was  begun,  any  and  all 
visitors  were  admitted ;  but,  as  the  work  advanced,  it  became 
necessary  to  adopt  stricter  rules.  Permission  was  given  to 
inspect  the  Tunnel  on  two  fixed  days  of  the  month  ;  and  if 
any  person  of  influence  or  position,  particularly  a  journalist, 
wished  to  examine  the  work  at  any  time,  he  had  little  diffi- 
culty in  doing  so.  When  you  have  obtained  permission,  you 
are  taken  in  charge  by  the  director  of  the  workmen,  who 
gives  you  a  long  India-rubber  coat  and  a  lighted  lamp,  at- 
tached to  half  a  yard  of  wire,  and  with  these  you  set  out  upon 
your  subterranean  journey. 

The  entrance  is  about  25  feet  wide,  and  as  many  in  height. 
A  double  railway  track  runs  into  the  Tunnel,  carrying  in  the 
various  implements  and  the  stone  for  the  mason  work,  and 
bringing  out  the  fragments  of  broken  and  blasted  rock.  At 
each  side  of  the  Tunnel  is  a  narrow  sidewalk  of  flagstones, 
and  the  air  conduit  is  ranged  along  the  side  of  the  gallery, 
while  between  the  lines  of  rails,  in  a  deep  trench,  are  the  gas 
and  water  pipes.  The  Tunnel,  as  may  be  supposed,  is  very 
damp,  and  a  number  of  little  streams  percolate  through  the 
rocky  sides  and  roof.  A  temporary  wooden  partition  divides 
the  Tunnel  into  two  equal  galleries,  above  and  below ;  the 
rarefied  air  from  the  lower  gallery  rising  and  passing  out 
through  the  upper,  while  fresh  air  comes  into  the  lower  to 
supply  its  place.  After  going  some  distance,  you  lose  sight 
of  the  patch  of  daylight  furnished  by  the  entrance,  and  find 
yourself  in  the  midst  of  darkness  which  seems  positively  tan- 
gible. You  soon  see  glimmering  through  the  blackness  a 
number  of  lights,  and  hear  rumbling  sounds,  which  proceed 
from  the  wagons  carrying  out  the  various  debris. 

The  part  of  the  Tunnel  finished  on  the  French  side,  when 
I  was  in  the  vicinity  of  Mont  Cenis,  was  something  over  two 
miles  and  a  half,  and  furnished  very  easy  walking.  Then 
came  the  portion  of  the  gallery  which,  having  been  opened  by 
the  perforators,  was  now  enlarging  by  the  ordinary  hand  pro- 


DRILLING  FOR  A  BLAST.  373 

cess.  There  the  passage  over  fragments  of  rocks,  past  wagons 
moving  to  and  fro,  and  in  the  face  of  various  obstacles,  be- 
comes difficult  and  somewhat  tiresome.  Before  you  have  pro- 
ceeded far,  the  guide  will  request  you  to  pause  for  a  while, 
and  you  will  probably  sit  down  in  the  rugged  gallery,  not 
more  than  nine  or  ten  feet  wide,  to  await  what  you  know 
must  be  a  blast.  In  that  dreary  cavern,  nearly  three  miles 
from  the  outer  world,  and  with  more  than  a  mile  of  Alps  tow- 
ering above  your  head,  you  expect  to  be  almost  deafened  by 
the  sound  of  the  explosion.  But  it  is  very  different  from 
what  it  would  be  in  the  open  air — a  dull,  heavy  rumble,  echo- 
ing and  reechoing  through  the  gallery,  and  seeming  to  shake 
the  mountains  from  base  to  summit.  One  explosion  follows 
another  in  rapid  succession,  and,  after  seven  or  eight,  the 
wooden  doors,  which  are  closed  just  before  the  blast,  are 
opened  again,  and  the  clouds  of  thick,  yellow  smoke  come 
pouring  through  the  Tunnel  in  such  density  and  volume  as  to 
be  painful,  if  not  dangerous,  to  persons  with  weak  lungs.  The 
guide  then  gives  you  a  sign  to  go  on,  and  you  soon  get  beyond 
the  suffocating  atmosphere  into  one  comparatively  fresh  and 
pure. 

Before  long  you  reach  the  end  of  the  Tunnel,  and  see  the 
carriage  or  platform  supporting  the  perforators  actively  at 
work.  They  so  scatter  sparks  of  fire  from  the  rock  as  to  re- 
mind you  of  small  Catherine  wheels.  The  motive  power  of 
the  perforator  is  conveyed  to  it  from  the  conduit  by  a  flexible 
pipe  throwing  the  compressed  air  into  a  cylinder  placed  hori- 
zontally along  the  carriage,  which  the  Italians  call  the  affusto. 
In  the  cylinder  is  a  piston,  to  which  is  attached  a  sharp  drill 
nearly  three  feet  long.  The  motion  of  the  piston  drives  the 
drill  against  the  rock,  and  by  a  complicated  piece  of  machin- 
ery gives  it  a  rotary  motion. 

The  drill  makes  200  revolutions  a  minute,  and  as  the  force 
of  each  stroke  upon  the  rock  is  some  200  pounds,  the  power 
the  drill  exercises  is  equivalent  to  about  40,000  pounds  a  min- 
ute. The  hardest  substance  the  workmen  encounter  is  white 
quartz,  and  through  it  the  progress  is  necessarily  slow — not 


374 


ACCIDENTS  IN  THE  TUNNEL. 


much  more  than  half  that  made  through  hornblende,  mica, 
and  slate.  The  first  difficulty  in  beginning  the  perforation  is 
to  make  a  hole  large  enough  to  confine  the  drill.  That  once 
made,  the  drill  works  back  and  forth  and  rotates  with  remark- 
able regularity,  assisted  by  a  stream  of  water  to  facilitate  the 
boring  process.  For  blasting,  about  90  holes,  three  feet  in 
depth  and  two  to  three  inches  in  diameter,  are  bored  in  the 
ordinary  rock.  The  holes  are  charged  with  powder  and  tam- 
ped, when,  the  miners  withdrawing  behind  the  wooden  doors, 
the  slow  match  is  ignited,  and  the  explosion  takes  place.  So 
the  labor  continues  day  and  night,  week  after  week,  includ- 
ing Sundays,  month  after  month,  year  after  year.  The  work- 
men are  divided  into  three  reliefs.  Eight  hours  are  given  to 
labor,  and  sixteen  to  rest.  For  all  this  hard,  unvarying  and 
perilous  toil  in  an  unwholesome  and  poisonous  atmosphere, 
the  common  laborers  receive,  I  have  been  told,  only  three 
francs  a  day,  and  those  who  have  more  skill  and  experience, 
but  five  francs. 

The  wear  and  tear  of  machinery  in  the  tunnel  is  very 
great.  The  drills  have  to  be  changed  every  few  minutes, 
and  it  is  estimated  that  at  least  2,500  perforators  have  been 
used  up. 

One  would  naturally  suppose  that  frequent  accidents  would 
be  unavoidable  in  such  a  gigantic  undertaking,  and  I  have 
been  told  that  more  than  1,000  workmen  had  lost  their  lives 
up  to  the  summer  of  1869.  The  guides  and  directors,  how- 
ever, had  a  different  story.  They  declared  that  not  more  than 
50  or  60  men  had  been  killed  outright,  though  a  number  of 
others  had  been  seriously  wounded.  Their  statement,  I  sup- 
pose, is  to  be  taken  with  allowance.  I  have  always  found 
that  casualties  of  any  kind  diminish  in  proportion  to  the  in- 
terest of  the  persons  who  report  them.  Most  of  the  accidents 
occurred  on  the  railway,  from  the  falling  of  rock,  and  from 
premature  explosions ;  but  many  others  which  defy  classifica- 
tion were  constantly  taking  place.  The  day  before,  or  the 
day  after  my  visit,  a  premature  explosion  killed,  as  I  was  in- 
formed, five  men  and  wounded  nine  others,  three  of  them 


RA  TE  OF  PR  0  GRESS.  375 

fatally.  I  heard,  too,  that  a  week  previous  a  rock  had  fallen 
and  crushed  three  men  to  death.  I  therefore  concluded,  by  a 
very  simple  rule-  of  three,  that,  if  eleven  men  lost  their  lives 
in  one  week,  it  was  hardly  probable  only  fifty  or  sixty  should 
be  mortally  hurt  in  twelve  years. 

I  have  mentioned  the  average  rate  of  progress  through  the 
tunnel  at  nine  feet  a  day ;  but  this  is  an  estimate  rather  than 
a  fact.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  give  an  exact  average, 
owing  to  the  difference  in  the  material  which  the  drills  en- 
countered. As  the  work  advanced,  the  rate  of  progress  dimin- 
ished. Through  the  quartz  the  workmen  did  not  make  some- 
times more  than  16  to  19  inches  a  day.  During  the  month 
of  May,  before  the  quartz  had  been  reached,  they  made  an 
advance  of  93  metres  (a  metre  is  39-rVo  English  inches)  ;  dur- 
ing June,  when  the  quartz  first  began  to  appear,  48  metres; 
during  July,  17  ;  and  during  August,  only  12.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  the  quartz,  it  is  probable  that  the  tunnel  would  have 
been  completed  more  than  two  years  ago.  It  was  thought 
that  the  work  would  be  finished  early  last  spring. 

In  the  excavating  gallery  the  temperature  ranged  from  70 
to  85  degrees  Fahrenheit  all  the  year  round,  and  the  differ- 
ence between  the  inside  of  the  Tunnel  and  the  external  at- 
mosphere was  often  from  35  to  45  degrees. 

The  perforators  were  not  introduced  into  the  Tunnel  at 
Fourneaux  (the  French  side)  until  1863,  two  years  after  they 
had  been  in  use  on  the  Italian  side. 

The  air-compressing  establishment  at  Fourneaux  (there  was 
a  similar  one  at  Bardoneche)  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Arc, 
about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  the  mouth  of  the  Tunnel, 
and  was  well  worth  a  visit,  especially  from  those  who  feel  an 
interest  in  ingenious  mechanical  contrivances. 

The  amount  of  money  expended  on  the  Tunnel  I  have  heard 
variously  estimated  at  100,000,000  to  150,000,000  francs ;  but 
I  should  suppose,  when  the  entire  cost  is  footed  up,  that  it 
might  be  more. 

Since  the  beginning  of  this,  the  greatest  achievement  in 
engineering  yet  undertaken,  at  least  in  modern  times,  the  pre- 


376 


UL  TIM  A  TE  SUCCESS. 


dictions  have  been  numerous  that  the  work  would  never  be 
finished.  Time  and  again  the  report  has  been  circulated  of 
the  abandonment  of  the  enterprise  as  hopelessly  impracti- 
cable ;  and  yet,  as  I  have  said,  the  labor  went  on  steadily,  and 
without  serious  interruption,  at  both  entrances,  from  the  first 
day  of  its  practical  beginning.  The  Italian  engineers,  Grandis, 
Grattoni,  and  Sommellier,  mainly  contributed,  with  sugges- 
tions from  Bartlett's  rock-perforating  invention,  to  the  forma- 
tion of  the  ingenious  apparatus  which  has  been  so  successfully 
employed  in  the  construction  of  the  Tunnel.  They  specu- 
lated and  experimented  so  long  and  so  energetically  upon 
their  ideas  and  plans  that  their  final  triumph  was  hailed  by 
their  friends  with  as  much  surprise  as  satisfaction.  Those 
who  have  gone  over  the  Mont  Cenis  pass  either  by  diligence 
or  by  rail,  and  remember  how  wearisome  and  tedious,  from  a 
mere  practical  stand-point,  the  journey  has  been,  will  be  de- 
lighted to  know  that  they  can  do  in  a  few  minutes,  with  the 
help  of  the  Tunnel,  what  has  heretofore  required  several  hours 
of  fatiguing  travel.  The  Tunnel  will  make  the  route  between 
Fourneaux  and  Susa  very  direct  and  vastly  shorter  than  the 
present  wandering  and  circuitous  road  from  St.  Michel  to  the 
old  Italian  town  lying  at  the  base  of  Mont  Cenis.  It  is  some- 
what remarkable  that  this  immense  work,  which  was  begun 
later  than  the  Hoosac  Tunnel — not  over  four  miles  long  in- 
stead of  nearly  eight,  as  the  Cenis  enterprise  is,  and  nothing 
like  so  difficult  or  so  complicated  a  piece  of  engineering — 
should  be  completed  two  years  before  the  end  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts bore  is  even  predicted. 

We  Americans  are  so  accustomed,  and  not  without  reason, 
to  plume  ourselves  upon  the  accomplishment  of  great  material 
and  practical  enterprises,  that  it  would  seem  more  natural  for 
us  to  have  made  the  Mont  Cenis  Tunnel  than  for  the  French 
and  Italians  to  have  surpassed  us  in  what  we  are  pleased  to 
consider  our  proper  field.  Much  as  we  have  done,  and  more 
that  we  shall  do,  it  is  altogether  likely  that  the  completion 
of  the  Mont  Cenis  Tunnel  will  stand  for  generations  as  the 
greatest  feat  of  engineering  the  world  has  yet  known. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

SWITZERLAND    AND    NORTHERN   ITALT. 

HEN  the  tourist  seeks  to  enter  Switzerland 
through  Northern  Italy,  traveling  by  diligence, 
and  steaming  over  lakes  Como,  Lecco,  Lugano 
and  Maggiore,  it  is  very  difficult  for  him  to  de- 
termine in  which  country  he  is. 

The  geographical  lines  of  the  picturesque 
region  are  very  puzzling,  especially  as  regards 
boundaries.  One  hour  you  are  in  Switzerland,  and  the  next 
in  Italy.  This  ride  of  a  mile  is  Italian,  and  the  other  Swiss. 
The  top  of  a  hill  belongs  to  Victor  Emanuel,  and  the  base  to 
one  of  the  cantons.  You  only  know  when  you  have  reached 
Italy  by  the  fact  that  your  baggage  is  examined  by  the  cus- 
tom-house officers,  but  in  such  a  polite  and  quiet  manner 
'compared  to  that  of  our  own  country  that,  remembering  your 
serious  annoyances  at  the  port  of  New  York,  you  are,  for  the 
time  being,  biased  in  favor  of  monarchical  governments. 

I  have  grave  doubts  whether  the  people  who  live  thereabouts 
know  to  what  nationality  they  belong  themselves.  They  are 
certainly  a  mongrel  race — a  mixture  of  Italian,  French,  and 
German,  speaking  all  languages  but  their  own,  and  having 
the  defects  of  three  different  countries,  with  few  of  their  re- 
deeming virtues. 

It  has  been  the  fashion  of  us  at  home  to  speak  of  the  Swiss 
in  the  most  laudatory  terms,  and  to  put  them  forward  as  the 
representatives  of  all  that  is  honest,  independent,  and  noble 
in  character.  I  am  afraid  we  have  rather  idealized  the 
Swiss,  as  we  are  apt  to  do  everything  that  is  far  away,  and  to 
attribute  to  them   on  account  of  their  republicanism  some 


04 


8  FIGHTING  FOR  MONEY. 


qualities  that  are  not  theirs.    They  have  many  virtues.    They 
are  sturdy,  brave,  and  devoted  to  freedom. 

But  they  are  not  so  upright,  generous,  and  chivalrous  as  we 
have  supposed.  They  have  a  splendid,  but  sterile  country, 
where  the  commonest  means  of  livelihood  are  procured  with 
such  difficulty  that  every  thought  and  effort  must  be  directed 
to  that  end.  Under  such  circumstances,  whatever  the  dispo- 
sition, generosity  is  impossible.  Men  who  are  compelled  to 
constant  toil  can  not  be  liberal  any  more  than  beggars  can 
give  sumptuous  entertainments.  Where  all  exertion  is 
toward  material  support,  the  mental  and  spiritual  being  must 
be  neglected.  In  a  word  Switzerland  is  too  poor  in  soil  to 
be  rich  in  manners,  for  the  graces  and  attractions  are  born  of 
the  superfluous,  and  without  them  the  quality  of  interest  is 
rare. 

Switzerland  has  received  enormous  credit  for  retaining  her 
independence  in  the  midst  of  monarchies  and  empires.  Un- 
questionably she  has  fought  long  and  well ;  but  she  owes  her 
political  republicanism  even  more  to  her  position  than  to  her 
prowess.  The  country  is  almost  inaccessible  to  armies,  and 
even  if  subjugated,  the  attempt  to  hold  it  would  be  folly.  Her 
nationality,  in  the  strict  sense,  she  has  not  preserved.  She' 
has  been  overrun  and  conquered  mentally  by  her  imperial 
neighbors,  and  she  is  each  and  all  of  them  by  turns  rather 
than  herself.  She  can  not  be  said  to  be  attached  to  freedom 
as  a  principle,  for  her  soldiers  fight  on  any  side  that  pays  best. 
The  most  despotic  powers  in  Europe  have  Swiss  in  their 
armies,  and  the  military  citizens  of  the  cantons  have  long 
been  regarded  as  mercenaries. 

I  remember  the  reply  of  the  Genevan  to  the  Parisian  officer 
who  declared  that  the  Swiss  fought  for  money,  and  the  French 
for  honor.  "  Oh,  yes,  that  is  very  true.  Every  nation  fights 
for  what  it  has  least  of." 

The  Genevan  was  half  correct.  The  Swiss  are  so  poor  they 
have  little  power  to  choose  ;  and  whenever  money  is  to  be  had 
the  temptation  is  difficult  to  resist.  Still,  it  is  not  easy  to 
grow  enthusiastic  over  men  who,  while  vaunting  of  their  in- 


UNPLEASANT  COMPANIONS.  379 

dependence  and  their  love  of  liberty,  will  sustain  fur  hire  the 
supremest  despotism. 

My  own  experience  with  hotel  proprietors,  guides,  servants, 
and  diligence  managers  in  that  country  has  not  been  of  a  kind 
to  prepossess  me  in  its  favor.  As  a  class  I  have  found  them 
much  less  fair-dealing  and  more  disingenuous  than  Italians, 
whose  reputation  among  travelers  has  never  been  good.  I 
have  been  made  the  victim  of  little  swindles  among  the  Alps 
that  are  not  practiced  in  the  Appennines  ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
I  prefer  Naples,  Rome  and  Florence  to  Berne,  Chamonix  and 
Geneva.  If  you  object  to  an  overcharge  in  your  bill  in  Italy, 
the  landlord  usually  corrects  it  cheerfully.  In  Switzerland 
he  either  attempts  to  justify  it,  or  flies  off  to  collateral  issues. 
A  Switzer  considers  it  so  much  his  duty  to  make  something 
out  of  you  that  it  is  hard  for  him  to  forego  what  he  regards 
both  an  obligation  and  a  satisfaction.  The  Swiss  may  be  ex- 
tremely honest ;  but  they  have  taken  a  singular  method  of 
revealing  their  honesty  to  me. 

The  traveler  in  Switzerland  is  constantly  struck  with  the 
difference  between  the  country  and  the  people.  The  contrast 
is  painful ;  for  the  magnificence  of  the  one  throws  into  bolder 
relief  the  wretchedness  of  the  other.  Excessive  toil  and  ir- 
remediable poverty,  have  made  the  Swiss  as  a  people  homely, 
misshapen,  hard.  Nature  has  sought  to  balance  her  prodi- 
gality to  the  land  by  niggardliness  to  its  inhabitants.  As  if 
the  absence  of  all  grace  and  comeliness  were  not  enough,  she 
has  added  goiter  and  cretinism  to  their  misfortunes. 
Throughout  the  Rhine  Valley,  and  the  Vale  of  Chamonix, 
unsightly  creatures  glare  at  you  on  all  sides.  You  turn  from 
a  lofty  peak,  or  a  magnificent  gorge,  to  a  monstrously  swollen 
neck  or  a  gibbering  imbecile.  Your  admiration  for  a 
picturesque  cascade  or  a  splendid  glacier  is  interrupted  by 
the  petition  of  a  hideous  cripple  or  the  stare  of  a  wandering 

idiot. 

Beggars  are  as  numerous  there  as  in  many  parts  of  Italy, 
and  far  more  repulsive.  They  lack  the  picturesqueness,  the 
ingenuity,  the  professional  ease,  of  the  Italians,  who  often 
amuse,  while  the  others  always  disgust 


380  LAKE   CO  MO. 

The  good  deities  deliver  me  henceforth  and  forever  from 
Swiss  beggars,  Swiss  goiter,  and  Swiss  cretins !  They  are  so 
revolting  that  the  Zermatt  Valley,  the  Mont  Blanc  chain,  and 
the  Bernese  Oberland  are  all  requisite  to  make  amends  for 
them. 

Lago  di  Como,  or  Lake  Como,  has  probably  obtained  more 
reputation  from  the  popularity  of  Bulwer's  pinchbeck  pro- 
duction than  from  any  other  source.  The  lake  is  certainly 
beautiful,  but  I  doubt  if  the  author  had  visited  it  when  he 
wrote  the  Lady  of  Lyons.  Otherwise  he  would  not  have 
made  Claude  speak  of  the  perfumed  light  stealing  through 
the  orange  groves.  Oranges  do  not  grow  to  any  extent  spon- 
taneously even  as  far  south  as  Rome,  and  Como  is  one  of 
the  most  northern  points  of  Italy.  I  might  suppose  Bulwer 
caused  Melnotte  to  make  the  mistake  to  show  the  youth's 
ignorance  of  what  he  had  never  seen  ;  but  that  would  not  be 
like  the  self-conscious  Lytton,  who  usually  tells  all  he  knows. 
Thackeray  might  be  suspected  of  such  a  stroke  of  art ;  but 
it  would  be  too  fine  for  Bulwer. 

Como  is  the  Lacus  Larius  that  Yirgil  praises  in  the  Geor- 
gics  (give  me  credit  for  not  quoting  his  honeyed  hexameters), 
and  it  merits  all  his  praise.  It  does  not  seem  like  a  lake,  but 
a  river ;  for  it  is  so  shut  in  by  hills  and  mountains  on  both 
sides  that  you  can  rarely  see  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  or 
behind  you.  It  is  about  thirty-six  miles  long,  though  scarcely 
three  miles  wide  at  its  broadest  point,  and  in  some  places  over 
eighteen  hundred  feet  deep.  It  somewhat  resembles  the 
Rhine,  but  is  much  more  beautiful  and  imposing ;  the  moun- 
tains on  each  bank  being  often  seven  thousand  feet  high. 
These  mountains  rise  from  the  very  border  of  the  lake,  and 
are  covered  with  verdure  and  foliage  from  the  base  to  the 
summit — something  we  never  see  in  this  country. 

The  high  land  is  dotted  with  cottages  and  villas  (many  of 
them  situated  at  the  water's  edge)  of  the  most  tasteful  and 
elaborate  description.  Not  a  few  of  the  villas  are  the  summer 
residences  of  the  noble  and  wealthy  families  of  Milan,  and 
with  their  handsome  gardens,  white  statues  gleaming  through 


CLAUDE  AND  PAULINE.  381 

the  trees,  picturesque  buildings,  and  artificial  grottoes,  seem 
as  if  they  might  be  the  very  home  of  poetic  content. 

I  did  not  observe  Claude's  palace,  though  I  directed  my 
lorgnette  on  every  side  in  search  of  it.  I  suppose  after  mar- 
rying Pauline  she  grew  extravagant,  and  so  far  exceeded  her 
husband's  income  that  he  became  bankrupt,  and  all  his  prop- 
erty was  sold  by  the  sheriff  of  the  neighboring  town.  Claude 
was  entirely  too  sentimental  as  a  lover  to  succeed  as  a  hus- 
band, and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  let  his  wife 
ruin  him. 

Women  frequently  say  that  men  who  talk  poetry,  and  lav- 
ish all  manner  of  tendernesses  upon  them,  quite  fail  to  under- 
stand the  practicalities  of  domestic  life.  Such  persons  need 
management — the  darling  occupation  of  the  feminine  heart 
— and  I  fancy  Mrs.  Melnotte  in  undertaking  the  administra- 
tion of  her  liege-lord's  affairs,  speedily  consigned  them  to 
what  Mantalini  calls  the  demnition  bow-wows. 
%  Lakes  Lecco  and  Lugano  much  resemble  Como,  though 
not  so  fine  in  their  surroundings.  They  are  all  favorite 
places  of  sojourn,  especially  with  the  English,  many  of  whom 
visit  them  year  after  year.  Our  "  trans- Atlantic  cousins  "  are 
different  from  us.  When  they  find  any  place  they  like,  they 
stay  in  it  for  some  time,  and  visit  it  again  and  again.  When 
we  find  a  pleasant  spot,  we  go  somewhere  else.  The  spirit 
of  restlessness  possesses  us.  We  believe  happiness  exists 
everywhere  but  in  the  place  we  happen  to  be  in.  We  pursue 
the  phantom  round  the  globe  without  discovering  that  it  is  a 
phantom,  and  die  with  an  inherited  notion  that  it  is  in  the 
world  to  come. 

Cadenabbia  on  Como,  Menaggio  at  the  intersection  of  Como 
and  Lecco,  and  Lugano  on  the  lake  of  that  name,  are  very 
pleasant  points  of  sojourn.  The  hotels  there  are  good,  but, 
like  those  of  watering-places  generally,  far  from  cheap.  They 
all  have  fine  lake  and  mountain  views,  and  would  be  charm- 
ing spots  for  the  honeymoon,  which  a  whispering  cynic  terms 
a  sentimental  truce  preceding  the  battle  of  domesticity. 

I  have  occupied  chambers  in  that  vicinity,  commanding 


382  FAVORITE  PLACES   OF  SOJOURN. 

such  skies  and  waters  and  steeps  as  must  have  made  them 
delightful  to  the  dullest  eye  and  the  most  unimaginative 
mind. 

I  went  from  Locarno  to  Arona  by  boat  on  a  clear,  delight- 
ful day,  and  enjoyed  the  deep  green  water  of  Lago  Maggiore, 
the  light  blue  sky,  and  the  ever-changing  shores  quite  as 
much  as  I  had  anticipated.  The  northern  or  upper  part  of 
the  lake  is  the  finest,  being  bordered  by  lofty  mountains, 
nearly  all  of  them  wooded,  while  the  lower  end  becomes  sub- 
dued in  character  as  it  approaches  the  plains  of  Lombardy. 
Like  Como,  Maggiore  resembles  a  broad  river,  and  is  con- 
stantly losing  itself  among  the  high  lands  through  which  it 
flows.  Its  average  width  is  three  miles  and  its  length  forty- 
five,  while  its  depth  in  some  places  is  nearly  twenty-seven 
hundred  feet.  As  far  as  Stresa,  Maggiore  is  an  uninterrupted 
picture — painted  in  water  colors,  of  course — which,  once 
seen,  is  long  remembered.  The  scenery  is  altogether  Italian, 
as  it  ought  to  be,  nearly  the  whole  lake  lying  in  Italy,  but 
much  softer  and  more  luxurious  than  you  would  look  for  so 
far  north. 

Numerous  handsome  villas  and  towns  nestle  along  the 
banks  of  the  river  under  the  shadow  of  the  mountains,  ap- 
pearing and  disappearing  while  you  steam  along,  as  if  they 
were  playing  the  coquette  with  nature  who  shelters  them  so 
gracefully.  Locarno  is  what  boarding-school  sentimentalists 
would  call  a  sweet  village,  with  its  planes  and  elms  festooned 
with  vines,  its  orange  and  citron  trees,  its  pretty  campanile 
and  pleasant  chapels.  The  slopes  above  the  town  are  cov- 
ered with  olives,  myrtle,  pomegranates  and  fig-trees,  and  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  neighborhood  is  luxuriously  southern. 

Across  from  Luino  are  two  half-ruined  and  singular-looking 
castles,  which  in  the  Middle  Ages  harbored  half  a  dozen 
notorious  brigands,  known  as  the  Mazzarda  brothers,  who  for 
years  pillaged  and  burned,  outraged  women  and  murdered 
men,  until  they  grew  to  be  the  terror  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  were  believed  from  their  frequent  escapes  to  be  in  league 
with  the  devil. 


BORROMEAN  ISLANDS.  383 

Tradition  represents  them  as  handsome  and  gallant  fel- 
lows j  but  I  am  sure  they  were  vulgar  villains  who  would 
have  robbed  their  grandmother  of  her  last  farthing,  and  have 
beaten  her  because  she  had  no  more  for  them  to  steal.  That 
prosaic  probability  does  not,  however,  destroy  the  romance 
of  the  association,  for  robbers'  ruined  castles  qi  the  fifteenth 
century  are  too  rare  not  to  be  welcome  when  presented  in 
authentic  shape. 

Near  Iutra  you  get  a  view  of  three  magnificent  mountains, 
the  Stralhorn,  Cima  di  Jazi,  and  Mischabel,  which  hide  them- 
selves several  times  on  the  route,  and  then  tower  up  again 
into  the  sky  when  you  have  ceased  to  expect  them.  But  the 
most  charming  part  of  Maggiore  is  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Borromean  Islands.  There  the  lake  broadens  into  a  bay. 
Mountains  are  on  both  sides,  and  the  green  verdure  of  the 
hills  rising  from  the  water  fades  off  gradually  into  the  brown 
and  barren  distances  of  the  Alps. 

The  Borromean  Islands  are  four  in  number — Bella,  Supe- 
riore,  San  Giovanni  and  Madre — the  first  and  last  belonging 
to  the  family  Borromeo,  from  whom  they  receive  their  name. 
Bella  has  long  been  famous,  having  been  purchased  two  cen- 
turies ago  by  Count  Borromeo,  who  from  a  barren  rock  con- 
verted it  into  a  luxurious,  but  extremely  artificial-looking 
garden.  The  island  is  crowded  with  fountains,  statues,  mo- 
saics and  grottoes,  and  has  ten  terraces  on  which  laurels, 
oleanders,  cedars,  cypresses,  lemon  and  orange  trees  are 
planted  in  profusion.  The  chateau  is  gloomy,  and  wholly 
disproportioned  to  the  size  of  the  island.  Jean  Jacques,  it  is 
said,  once  thought  of  making  it  the  scene  of  his  burning  ro- 
mance of  "  La  Nouvelle  Heloise,"  but  concluded  it  too  arti- 
ficial for  his  superlatively  natural  story. 

Isola  Madre  is  laid  out  with  walks,  and  more  inviting  than 
Bella.  On  the  south  side  are  many  fine  aloes,  and  I  was 
pleased  to  see  several  of  them  in  bloom. 

A  singular  statue  is  that  which  meets  your  eye  as  you 
steam  into  Arona.  It  is  one  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo,  Arch- 
bishop  of  Milan.      It  is  sixty-six  feet   high,   and   rests   on 


384  ALPINE  PASSES. 

a  pedestal  of  forty  feet.  The  robe  is  of  wrought  copper,  and 
the  head,  hands,  and  feet  of  bronze.  The  enormous  figure  is 
held  together  by  clamps  and  masonry  in  the  interior,  and  per- 
sons who  have  no  objection  to  heat,  dirt,  and  bats  can  ascend, 
as  I  did,  by  means  of  ladders  and  iron  bars  into  the  head, 
which  will  hold  three  grown  men. 

A  noticeable  peculiarity  of  the  Alpine  passes  is  that  the 
one  you  go  over  is  always  the  grandest  and  most  interesting. 
That  is,  you  must  say  so  to  be  in  the  fashion ;  for  all  the  trav- 
elers you  meet  give  you  such  information.  I  have  crossed 
by  three  passes,  and  may  therefore  be  supposed  to  take  a 
broad  view  of  the  subject.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  the  St. 
Gothard  the  most  attractive,  and  the  Simplon  and  the  Splugen 
next,  though  so  many  clamor  for  the  St.  Bernard,  Brenner, 
Mont  Cenis,  and  Bernina  that  they  may  settle  the  question 
among  themselves. 

The  Simplon  is  certainly  the  most  famous.  You  remember 
that  after  the  most  arduous  passage  of  the  St.  Bernard,  Na- 
poleon determined  to  build  a  military  road,  and  the  Simplon 
was  the  result.  The  work,  which  is  magnificent,  required 
six  years  and  about  $4,000,000  for  its  completion.  The  dili- 
gence ride  is  long,  nearly  twenty-four  hours,  and  would  be 
tedious  but  for  the  impressive  scenery  scattered  all  along  the 
route.  I  varied  the  monotony  with  walking,  gathering  Alpine 
roses,  running  here  and  there  for  a  commanding  view,  and 
exploring  the  sombre  recesses  of  the  chalets,  refuges,  and  hos- 
pices. The  cascades,  gorges,  defiles,  overhanging  rocks,  and 
snowy  peaks  were  very  interesting ;  but  I  have  seen  few  re- 
gions more  crushingly  desolate  than  the  summit  of  the  Simp- 
lon. The  clouds  hung  over  and  around  and  below  it ;  a  cold, 
sleety  rain  fell ;  the  icy  glaciers  showed  their  white  tops  like 
frozen  ghosts,  and  the  few  habitations  scattered  about  seemed 
incapable  of  supporting  life  as  I  stood  on  the  dreary  apex  in 
the  all-pervading,  almost  painful  stillness  of  the  place. 

I  afterward  entered  the  well-known  Hospice,  a  large  stone 
building  at  the  base  of  Monte  Leone,  which  rears  its  splendid 
head  nearly  three  thousand  feet  above  the  Simplon.     The 


DOWN  TEE  MO UNTA1N.  385 

Hospice  was  founded  by  Napoleon  for  the  reception  of  travel- 
ers, but  was  not  finished  until  the  Hospice  of  St.  Bernard  pur- 
chased it,  some  forty  years  ago. 

According  to  the  prescribed  custom  I  drank  a  glass  of  com- 
mon wine  handed  me  by  one  of  the  members  of  the  order,  and 
left  my  contribution  in  the  poor  box.  I  thought  while  talking 
to  the  monk  what  a  life  was  his,  and  wondered  what  view  he 
took  of  the  world.  I  did  not  ask  him,  however.  He  seemed 
cheerful  and  satisfied,  and  evidently  had  no  fancy  for  meta- 
physical speculation.  I  could  not  help  but  pity  his  condition, 
and  probably  he  pitied  mine.  I  admired  him  for  giving  up 
everything  for  the  good  of  his  fellow-creatures ;  for  spending 
his  days  among  the  eternal  snows  for  the  sake  of  succoring 
the  distressed.  He  would  have  admired  me,  if  he  had  had 
keen  spiritual  insight,  for  my  resisting  the  temptation  to  an- 
noy him  with  abstruse  questions  he  felt  no  interest  in.  The 
descent  of  the  Simplon  is  sudden  and  rapid.  We  went  down 
in  about  one-fifth  of  the  time  we  had  employed  in  going  up. 
We  dashed  along  at  a  fine  rate,  gradually  getting  out  of  the 
mists  and  into  a  milder  temperature.  After  passing  the  Gal- 
lery of  Guido  we  had  a  view  of  the  Fressinone,  recently  swol- 
len by  rains,  dashing  over  the  rocks,  which,  with  the  cliffs 
towering  two  thousand  feet  above  our  heads,  made  a  striking 
picture — one  that  surpasses  the  famous  Via  Mala  in  the  Splu- 
gen  route. 

Down,  down,  down,  we  went,  hanging  over  the  broad  val- 
leys and  the  winding  streams ;  rolling  through  huge  rocks, 
rent  in  twain  by  convulsions  of  Nature ;  skirting  precipices 
where  tall  trees  growing  below  appeared  like  shrubs  ;  rattling 
along  under  jutting  promontories  of  flint  and  ilex ;  pausing  at 
quaint  towns  with  sharp  spires  and  half  stone,  half  wooden 
dwellings  with  overspreading  roofs ;  barked  at  by  village 
dogs;  gazed  at  by  homely  wenches  whose  huge  waists  lay 
under  their  arms ;  visible  and  invisible  as  we  wheeled  round 
the  declivities  of  the  mountains,  and  finally  halted  before  the 
gasthof  for  the  night,  releasing  our  smoking  horses  from  their 
rapid  journey,  and  bestowing  ourselves  on  a  rude  bench  to 
smoke  into  fresh  forms  the  memories  of  the  Simplon  Pass. 


CHAPTER  L. 


IN    SWITZERLAND. 


ITH  Swiss  cottages  we  associate  a  deal  of  ro- 
mance ;  but  seen  on  their  native  soil,  they  are 
extremely  uninviting,  and  as  little  likely  to  at- 
tract lovers  as  the  grave  they  talk  so  much 
about,  and  take  such  pains  to  keep  out  of.  They 
resemble  living  tombs,  are  chilly,  damp,  and 
dreary  enough.  The  fiercest  passion  that  ever 
drove  man  to  folly  or  woman  to  madness  would  be  frozen  in 
them.  Cupid  would  contract  the  rheumatism,  and  the  god- 
dess of  affection  herself  would  so  suffer  from  catarrh  and  lum- 
bago as  to  forget  her  specialty.  Love,  to  be  herself,  must  be 
in  good  health.  She  seldom  has  physicians'  bills  to  pay. 
When  she  does,  she  changes  her  name,  and  does  the  offices 
of  pity. 

The  cottages  look  picturesque  perched  on  the  few  green 
places  among  the  Alps ;  but  entered,  they  are  no  more  invit- 
ing than  Ugolino's  dungeon.  I  don't  wonder  their  inhabitants 
get  so  sallow  and  bilious,  homely  and  hard-looking.  It  is  the 
natural  result  of  such  habitations.  Swiss  cottages  would  have 
no  sentimental  aspect  if  their  realities  were  known.  It  makes 
me  chilly  and  half  ill  to  think  of  life,  or  what  is  called  life,  in 
their  grim  unwholesomeness. 

Lake  Geneva,  or  L6man,  has  been  so  much  lauded  by  Vol- 
taire, Goethe,  and  Byron;  is  so  associated  with  Rousseau  and 
Gibbon ;  has  been  so  sung  and  painted  by  bard  and  artist  that 
it  is  likely  to  provoke  disappointment.  The  largest  of  the 
Swiss  lakes — fifty  miles  long  and  eight  wide  in  its  greatest 


CASTLE  OF  CHILL  ON.  387 

length  and  width — it  is  crescent-shaped,  the  two  horns  being 
inclined  to  the  south,  and  differs  from  the  others,  more  or  less 
green,  in  being  of  a  deep  blue.  Its  blue  color  is  ascribed  by 
Sir  Humphrey  Davy — he  lived  for  some  years,  and  died  at 
Geneva — to  the  presence  of  iodine — an  opinion  with  which  the 
native  naturalists  do  not  agree.  Like  Lake  Constance,  it  is 
subject  to  changes  of  level ;  the  water  in  particular  spots  ris- 
ing occasionally  several  feet  without  perceptible  motion  or 
apparent  cause,  and  falling  again  in  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes. 
The  currents,  produced  by  the  rising  of  subterranean  springs, 
are  often  very  strong,  and  water-spouts  sometimes  occur. 
The  eastern  end  of  the  Lake  is  much  finer  than  the  western, 
owing  to  the  nearness  of  the  mountains  and  the  superior 
character  of  the  scenery.  The  lateen  sail  of  many  of  the 
vessels — seldom  seen  elsewhere  except  at  Leghorn  and  in 
Scotland — adds  to  this  picturesque  effect.  On  the  banks  grow 
the  sweet  and  wild  chestnut,  the  walnut,  the  magnolia,  the 
vine  and  the  cedar  of  Lebanon,  and  are  situated  many  beau- 
tiful villas. 

From  Yevay  one  has  a  charming  view  of  the  lakes  and  the 
Alps  of  Valais.  One  sees  the  rocks  of  Meillerie,  and  near  by 
are  Clarens,  and  all  the  romantic  places  that  Rousseau  has 
painted  so  vividly  in  his  tale  of  longing  and  of  love.  A  sail 
over  the  blue  waters,  and  a  walk  upon  the  picturesque  shore 
recall  Julie,  who,  say  what  we  may,  is  a  natural  woman. 

Vevay  is  delightfully  situated,  and  he  who  wishes  to  culti- 
vate sentimental  companionship  and  the  beautiful  in  nature 
will  find  the  spot  favorable.  That  is  the  place,  above  all 
others,  to  read  "La  Nouvelle  Heloise,"  nearly  all  of  whose 
scenes  are  within  easy  reach. 

The  Castle  of  Chillon  is  not  far  from  there.  Of  course,  I 
visited  it,  for  Byron's  poem  has  made  it  famous.  It  stands 
on  an  isolated  rock,  is  reached  by  a  bridge,  and  is  as  gloomy 
as  any  one  would  desire,  with  its  massive  walls  and  towers. 
It  is  now  used  as  an  arsenal,  but  the  dungeons  in  which 
Francis  Bonnivard,  the  Abbe*  of  Corcier,  and  many  reformers 
were  confined,  still  remain,  as  does  the  ancient  beam  on 


383  CITY  OF  GENEVA. 

•which  the  condemned  were  executed.  "  Cf-ott  der  Herr  segne 
den  Ein-und  Ausgang,  (May  God  bless  all  who  come  in  and 
go  out ! ")  are  the  words  inscribed  by  the  Bernese  in  1643 
over  the  Castellan's  entrance.  I  wonder  if  He  blessed  me 
when  I  went  in  and  came  out.     I  forgot  to  ask. 

In  the  dungeons  are  eight  pillars, — one  of  them  half  built 
into  the  wall — to  which  the  prisoners  were  fettered.  Thou- 
sands of  names  are  inscribed  on  the  columns,  among  them 
Byron's,  but  whether  genuine  or  not  is  uncertain.  The  poet's 
prisoner  was  not,  as  many  have  thought,  intended  for  Bonni- 
vard,  of  whose  history  he  was  unaware  when  he  wrote  the 
verses. 

A  number  of  pleasant  villages,  as  Chernex,Colouges,  Glion, 
Montreux,  Vernex,and  Veytaux,  are  scattered  about  the  Lake 
and  on  the  mountain,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Yevay,  and  are 
much  visited  by  strangers  and  tourists  during  the  summer. 

Lausanne,  the  capital  of  the  Canton  of  Vaud,  has  20,000 
inhabitants,  and  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  terraced  slopes 
of  Mont  Jurat ;  but  is  less  attractive  after  entering  it.  In  the 
garden  of  the  Hotel  Gibbon,  the  celebrated  historian  com- 
pleted the  "Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire."  Ouchy 
is  the  port  of  Lausanne,  and  the  road  to  it  from  the  Lake  is 
lined  with  handsome  villas. 

Geneva  is  the  chief  city  of  Switzerland  (population  50,000), 
and  being  on  the  confines  of  Savoy,  and  easy  of  access  from 
the  different  capitals,  is  quite  cosmopolitan  in  character.  It 
seems  to  be  a  favorite  place  of  sojourn  for  Americans,  who 
are  largely  represented  at  all  the  hotels,  of  which  it  can  boast 
an  extraordinary  number  of  a  superior  class. 

Geneva  is  very  pleasantly  situated  on  the  Lake  and  presents 
a  handsome  appearance  as  you  see  it  from  the  water — an  ap- 
pearance not  sustained  when  you  penetrate  the  interior  or 
older  portion  of  the  town.  The  city,  like  many  people  who 
visit  it,  keeps  its  beauty  for  the  outside,  and  will  not  bear  in- 
ward examination. 

This  is  particularly  true  of  many  of  our  countrymen,  who 
dash  about  there  in  showy  carriages  and  make  a  grand  display, 
but  live  very  economically,  not  to  say  meanly,  at  home. 


GENEVA   WATCHES.  389 

Geneva,  as  every  one  knows,  is  the  centre  and  home  of 
watch-making  and  watch-makers.  One  of  the  largest  houses 
(Patek,  Phillipe  &  Co.,)  manufactures  exclusively  for  the 
American  market.  I  have  been  through  their  establishment, 
and  have  seen  watches  all  the  way  from  those  that  could  be 
set  in  a  ring  to  a  large-sized  chronometer,  striking  the  quar- 
ters and  playing  tunes,  overladen  with  carving  and  jewelry, 
and  worth  five  or  six  thousand  francs.  Outside  of  our  country 
such  costly  trinkets  could  hardly  find  purchasers. 

The  process  of  manufacture  is  very  interesting.  From  the 
bars  of  precious  metals  and  the  crude  rubies  you  trace  the 
fine  work,  through  every  delicate  manipulation,  until  the 
chronometer  is  complete  and  perfect.  A  great  deal  less  of 
the  labor  is  performed  by  machinery  than  at  Waltham  or 
Elgin,  and  is  consequently  far  more  exact.  "Watches  that 
sell  there  for  fifty  or  one  hundred  dollars  cannot  be  bought  in 
the  United  States  for  less  than  two  or  three  times  that  price. 

The  amount  of  labor  expended  on  a  Geneva  watch  is  re- 
markable. Six  or  seven  months  are  required  for  its  comple- 
tion, and  all  who  assist  in  it  are  slaves  to  their  calling.  The 
good  watch-makers  are  obliged  to  lead  regular,  abstemious 
lives ;  for  their  eyes  must  be  keen ;  their  nerves  steady ;  their 
minds  unembarrassed ;  even  their  digestion  perfect.  Mental 
anxiety,  a  little  dissipation,  unfits  them  for  their  calling. 
With  the  best  care  of  themselves  they  soon  wear  out,  and  die 
of  old  age  at  five-and-forty.  They  are  a  sad,  over-strained, 
over-worked  class.  They  put  all  their  life  into  their  trade. 
They  think,  move,  and  have  their  being  in  a  watch.  They 
have  no  thought,  no  hope,  no  purpose  beyond  it.  I  carry  a 
Geneva  watch  in  my  pocket,  and  its  tickings  constantly  re- 
mind me  of  the  feverish  pulses  of  the  poor  fellows  who  have 
given  so  much  of  themselves  to  the  little  miracle  of  mechan- 
ism and  absorbing  toil. 

I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  see  one  of  the  delicate  time-keep- 
ers without  a  certain  melancholy  association — without  recall- 
ing the  conscientious  serfs  I  have  studied  on  the  Grand  Quai 
of  Geneva. 


390  CAL  V1N  AND  ROSSEA  U. 

The  watchmaker  is  born,  I  believe,  not  made.  The  trade 
is  inherited,  and  descends  from  sire  to  son.  The  city  will 
always  enjoy  its  excellence  in  this  business.  The  steady 
habits,  the  unvarying  patience,  the  plodding  capacity,  the  un- 
swerving purpose  of  a  Switzer,  are  essential  to  complete  suc- 
cess. In  a  country  like  ours,  where  everything  is  haste  and 
recklessness,  where  we  touch  life  with  bare  nerves,  the  man- 
ufacture of  a  genuine  Geneva  watch  would  be  next  to  impos- 
sible. 

John  Calvin  and  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  are  the  two  men 
Geneva  always  recalls.  In  the  Rue  de  Chanoines  is  shown 
the  house  in  which  the  stern  and  cruel  reformer  lived  and  died, 
and  in  the  Grande  Rue  the  dwelling  where  the  eloquent  apos- 
tle of  love  first  opened  his  melancholy  eyes.  How  different 
these  men;  how  lauded  one,  how  abused  the  other!  They 
both  led  stormy  lives.  Both  were  earnest,  and  sought  the 
good  of  humanity  in  different  ways.  One  found  his  guide 
in  his  merciless  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures ;  the  other  in 
his  trembling  sensibility  to  every  form  of  pain.  Calvin,  in 
the  interest  of  religion,  condemned  the  conscientious  Servetus 
to  the  stake.  The  works  of  Rousseau,  written  in  behalf  of 
humanity,  were  burned  by  the  common  hangman. 

Both  were  sincere;  both  were  mistaken.  Austere  and 
rigorous  in  his  way  as  the  reformer  was ;  scoffer  and  atheist 
as  the  philosopher  was  called,  there  are  many  to-day  who 
would  rather  have  been  Rousseau  than  Calvin.  There  is,  to 
my  mind,  more  true  religion  in  "Emile"  and  "Nouvelle 
Heloi'se,"  much  as  they  have  been  censured,  than  in  all  the 
pitiless  doctrines  the  theologian  taught. 

Calvin  would  dave  damned  every  soul  that  held  an  opinion 
different  from  his  own.  Rousseau  would  have  quenched  with 
his  tears  the  flames  Calvin  kindled  about  the  poor  physician 
who  had  dared  to  doubt  the  injustice  of  God.  And  one  is 
styled  Christian,  the  other  infidel. 

The  house  of  Calvin  is  now  a  Catholic  school.  The  pulpit 
from  which  he  dealt  damnation  over  the  world  has  since  been 
occupied  by  Romish  priests.    Where  Rousseau's  statue  stands, 


CHUB CH BY  VOL TAIRE.  391 

on  the  island  named  after  him,  I  have  heard  sweet  music  ris- 
ing night  after  night.  In  the  Muse'e  Rath  I  have  seen  gen- 
tle natures  turn  from  the  picture  of  Calvin's  death  as  if  in 
pain,  and  soft  eyes  moisten  over  Rousseau's  bust  as  if  in  sym- 
pathy with  all  he  endured.  "Who  knows  but  the  present  gen- 
eration is  reversing  the  judgment  of  the  past  ? 

Geneva  is  at  the  southern  extremity  of  the  Lake,  at  the 
point  where  the  Rhone  flows  from  it  with  the  swiftness  of  an 
arrow,  and  makes  a  pleasant  lullaby  to  the  head  that  seeks 
its  pillow  in  the  neighboring  hotels.  Again  and  again  have 
I  gone  to  sleep  to  the  noise  of  its  stream,  and  been  awakened 
from  dreams  by  the  rush  of  its  waters.  The  Rhone  surrounds 
the  little  Quartier  de  l'lsle,  and  divides  the  town  into  two 
parts.  The  canton  of  which  the  city  is  the  capital  is  the 
smallest  in  Switzerland  after  Zug,  and  Voltaire  used  to  say  : 
"  When  I  shake  my  wig  I  powder  the  whole  republic." 

Fernex,  in  French  territory,  is  four  miles  from  Geneva,  at 
the  foot  of  the  Jura  mountains.  It  was  a  wretched  hamlet 
until  Voltaire  in  1759  purchased  land  there ;  founded  manu- 
factures ;  attracted  industrious  colonists ;  built  a  chateau  for 
himself  and  a  church  with  the  inscription  over  the  portal — 
Voltaire  Deo  Erexit  (Voltaire  has  erected  this  to  God).  The 
Chateau  and  Church  were  visited  by  thousands  every  year ; 
but  recently  they  have  been  removed,  ostensibly  to  give  place 
to  new  improvements,  but  really,  it  is  said,  with  the  expecta- 
tion of  extinguishing  the  memory  of  the  Patriarch — an  effort 
kindred  to  Mrs.  Malaprop's  endeavor  to  keep  out  the  Atlantic 
with  her  broom. 

Most  of  the  Americans  who  go  abroad  seem  to  have  but  one 
object — advertisement  of  themselves  and  the  length  of  their 
purses.  Even  those  who  have  slender  incomes  are  anxious 
to  have  it  thought  otherwise.  They  spend  as  they  go,  giving 
on  every  hand  without  reason  or  justice.  When  they  are 
obliged  to  return  home,  they  spare  and  pinch  until  they  have 
made  up  for  their  prodigality  in  Europe.  I  have  seen  many 
on  the  Continent  affecting  what  they  conceive  to  be — a  grand 
mistake,  by  the  by — the  liberality  of  princes  ;  and  I  am  sure 


392  AMERICAN  TRAVELERS. 

when  they  got  back  to  their  native  land  they  chaffered  with 
tradesmen,  and  disputed  about  pennies.  The  Europeans  un- 
derstand this  peculiarity,  and  make  the  most  of  it.  They 
flatter  our  national  vanity,  which  is  to  make  others  believe 
we  are  worth  more  than  we  are,  and  so  enhance  their  fortunes 
at  the  expense  of  our  own. 

We  make  ourselves  ridiculous  in  this  way ;  but  we  never 
seem  to  perceive  it.  Every  year  our  extravagance  on  the 
Continent  increases,  and  every  year  foreigners  fatten  on  our 
folly.  Americans  have  ruined  Europe  as  a  place  of  travel  for 
persons  of  moderate  means.  Prices  have  advanced  a  hundred 
per  cent,  in  a  few  years,  and  the  time  is  coming  when  a  single 
native  Columbian  can  not  spend  six  months  abroad  for  less 
than  three  thousand  dollars  in  gold.  There  is  one  rate  over 
there  for  Americans,  and  another  for  Europeans,  who  do  not 
think  the  best  thing  in  life  is  to  waste  money.  A  French, 
English,  or  Italian  nobleman  who  has  inherited  riches  is  much 
more  careful  of  them  than  any  of  our  own  people,  who  have 
made  what  they  have  by  hard  work.  It  would  be  well  for  us 
if  we  could  remember  this,  and  refrain  from  affecting  gentility 
by  unreasonable  and  therefore  vulgar  display. 

I  hardly  know  what  poor  Switzerland  would  do  without  the 
income  derived  and  expected  from  the  English-spending  race. 
It  has  become  as  much  of  a  show-shop  as  Italy.  Wherever 
there  is  a  fine  view,  a  lofty  mountain,  or  a  picturesque  cas- 
cade, a  hotel  is  set  up,  and  tempting  baits  are  laid  for  the 
purses  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  The  English,  however,  are  wiser 
than  we.  They  visit  the  Continent  to  improve  and  enjoy 
themselves.  They  like  to  be  comfortable ;  but  they  have  no 
ambition  to  convince  every  one  they  meet  of  their  disregard  for 
money.  They  are  willing  to  pay  for  what  they  get.  The 
Americans  are  anxious  to  pay  for  what  they  do  not  get ;  and 
there  is  no  doubt  they  get  less  for  what  they  spend  than  any 
people  in  the  world. 

One  of  the  first  things  an  American  of  the  kind  I  speak  of 
tells  you,  is  how  much  it  has  cost  him  in  Europe.  He  does 
not  seem  to  appreciate  or  remember  what  he  has  seen;  but 


\ 


A  HARVEST  FOR  SWITZERLAND. 


393 


he  can  inform  you  to  a  dollar  of  the  extent  of  his  expendi- 
tures. If  he  has  parted  with  five  times  as  much  money  as  he 
ought,  he  appears  happy,  and  sails  back  across  the  sea  with 
the  assurance  that  he  has  sustained  the  national  reputation, 
so  unfortunately  and  deservedly  acquired,  of  living  beyond 
one's  means. 

Switzerland  derives  annually  from  travelers  not  less  than 
seven  or  eight  millions  of  dollars ;  and  I  need  not  say  that 
the  greater  part  of  this  comes  out  of  the  ever-open  pock- 
ets of  our  countrymen.  Our  material  prosperity  has  spoiled 
us.  We  are  children  as  yet.  Perhaps  with  age  we  shall 
learn  that  the  vanity  of  money-spending  is,  of  all  vanities,  the 
weakest  and  silliest. 


CHAPTER     LI. 

CLIMBING   MONT   BLANC. 

£*  OU  rarely  enter  any  town  in  Savoy  or  Swit- 

■     zerland  where  you  are  not  told  you  can  have 

splendid  views  of  the  Alps,  and  of  this  and  that 

particular  mountain,  from  height  or  tower,  if  the 

weather  be  clear. 

The  last  phrase  is  very  discreet,  though  ex- 
tremely disappointing.  Most  tourists  suppose  it 
means  when  there  are  no  clouds  or  mists ;  but  it  means  when 
the  atmosphere  is  in  a  peculiarly  translucent  state,  which  it 
seldom  is,  in  mountainous  districts,  more  than  once  or  twice 
a  month. 

There  is  no  satisfaction  in  looking  at  peaks  miles  and  miles 
away.  You  have  to  depend  on  your  imagination  for  their 
outlines,  and  create  them  more  or  less  out  of  the  clouds  that 
envelope  them.  That  is  a  good  exercise  for  the  development 
of  the  poetic  faculty ;  but  rather  unsubstantial  as  a  pleasure 
to  one  who  has  crossed  the  ocean  to  see  with  his  outward 
instead  of  his  inner  eye. 

Naturally,  every  tourist  desires  to  have  a  view  of  Mont 
Blanc,  the  Agamemnon  of  the  Alps,  and,  indeed,  the  moun- 
tain monarch  of  all  Europe.  He  often  seeks  to  gratify  his 
curiosity  from  Milan,  Martigny,  Geneva,  and  every  other 
place  within  a  radius  of  a  hundred  miles ;  but  he  rarely  suc- 
ceeds unless  he  makes  a  journey  into  the  celebrated  Vale  of 
Chamonix,  whose  scenery  has  no  equal  in  grandeur  in  all 
Switzerland. 

The  Mont  Blanc  chain  might  not  be  thought  much  of  in 


INTRODUCTORY  EXCURSIONS.  3!)5 

our  country — the  loftiest  peak  is  less  than  fifteen  thousand 
feet  (14,807  feet  to  be  exact)  but  in  Europe  they  hold  it  in 
the  highest  regard. 

The  Vale  of  Chamonix  lies  immediately  below  the  chain, 
and  seems  wholly  shut  in  by  the  mountains  and  the  sky,  Mont 
Blanc  and  all  his  companions  rear  their  hoary  heads  over  the 
insignificant  hamlet — the  whole  population  consists  of  hotel 
attache's,  guides,  and  mule  drivers — dwarfing  it  still  more, 
and  making  it  appear  like  a  village  of  toys. 

Many  persons  drive  there  from  Geneva — fifty  miles  distant 
— and  after  looking  at  the  splendid  scenery,  return  the  follow- 
ing day.  Others,  more  curious  or  ambitious,  ascend  Montan- 
vert  with  the  aid  of  a  mule ;  quit  their  beast,  go  down  to  the 
Mer  de  Glace,  cross  it,  ride  again  to  the  Chapeau,  and  after- 
ward climb  the  Flegdre,  which  can  be  accomplished  in  twelve 
hours.  Some  content  themselves  with  going  to  the  H6tel  des 
Pyramides,  at  Montanvert,  and  enjoying  from  that  point  the 
splendid  panorama — probably  the  finest  beyond  the  Atlantic. 
There  you  see  all  the  grand  mountains  in  their  native  sub- 
limity— Blanc,  the  Dome  du  Goute",  Aiguilles  du  Midi,  Verte, 
d'Argenti&re,  les  Jorasses,  and  all  the  sky-piercing  fraternity, 
costumed  in  snow,  glaciers,  and  icy  seas. 

Having  plenty  of  time,  and  a  little  money,  I  wanted  to  do 
something  more  than  common.  I  like  climbing.  I  am  well 
constructed  for  it,  having  no  superfluous  flesh,  and  having  ac- 
quired a  certain  agility  and  endurance  in  early  boyhood  by 
trying  to  collect  numerous  accounts  left  me  in  trust  by  a  good 
fellow  who  had  been  called  away  by  important  business  to  the 
other  world. 

I  have  vast  faith  in  my  capacity  for  upward  movements ;  but 
still  I  had  heard  so  much  of  the  danger  and  difficulty  of  as- 
cending Mont  Blanc  that  I  thought  I  would  prepare  myself 
by  introductory  excursions. 

I  discarded  mules  and  guides  where  I  could ;  did  Montan- 
vert before  breakfast ;  crossed  the  Glaciers  des  Bossons ;  mount- 
ed the  Fle'g&re,  explored  the  source  of  Arveiron  as  an  appe- 
tizer for  dinner;  and,  finally,  went  on  foot  from  the  hotel  to 
the  Jardin  and  returned  by  Les  Tines  in  about  ten  hours. 


396 


TEE  EARLIEST  ASCENTS. 


The  guide  who  conducted  me  on  the  last  expedition  was 
warm  in  his  encomiums  upon  my  pedestrian  powers,  which  I 
should  have  regarded  merely  as  the  insurer  of  a  large  trink- 
geld  had  I  not  noticed  that  he  was  more  disposed  than  I  to 
halt  on  the  mountain  march. 

Mont  Blanc  was  first  ascended  in  1786  by  Jacques  Balmat, 
an  intrepid  guide,  who  was  made  seriously  ill  by  the  fatigue 
and  exposure,  but  recovered  sufficiently  in  a  few  weeks  to  go 
up  again  with  his  physician,  Dr.  Paccard,  and  return  after  a 
succession  of  perils  and  narrow  escapes.  Balmat  lived  nearly 
fifty  years  longer,  and  was  finally  killed  by  falling  over  a  pre- 
cipice while  in  pursuit  of  a  chamois.  The  following  year,  De 
Saussure,  the  naturalist,  made  the  ascent  with  sixteen  guides, 
and  published  the  results  of  his  expedition  in  a  scientific 
journal.  In  1825  the  summit  was  reached  by  Dr.  E.  Clarke 
and  Captain  Sherwill,  and  during  the  last  fifteen  years  a  num- 
ber of  tourists  have  climbed  to  the  peak  of  Blanc  every  season. 
The  majority  of  those  who  undertake  the  journey  abandon  it 
from  disinclination  or  inability  to  endure  the  severe  fatigue 
which  can  hardly  be  borne  by  those  unaccustomed  to  regular 
and  energetic  exercise. 

After  my  experience,  I  felt  confident  I  could  accomplish 
the  task,  if  I  could  make  up  my  body  as  easily  as  I  had  made 
up  my  mind. 

Every  hour  I  have  passed  in  the  Valley,  Mont  Blanc  defied 
me,  as  if  to  say,  "  Come  up  here  if  you  dare  !  Why  think 
you  have  endurance  and  content  yourself  with  scaling  the 
lesser  steeps  ?  I  am  monarch.  If  you  were  born  to  command, 
as  you  fancy,  no  doubt,  take  your  place  by  my  side." 

I  soon  began  to  imagine  the  peak  was  really  challenging 
me.  I  became  possessed  with  the  idea  of  doing  what  the  old 
fellow  so  vexatiously  invited  me  to  do.  I  talked  to  my  guide 
— a  trusty  and  experienced  person — who  said  the  ascent 
could  be  made  in  two  days,  though  three  was  the  usual  time, 
and  at  an  expense  for  himself  and  two  porters  to  carry 
ladders,  hooks,  cords,  and  provisions,  of  about  four  hundred 
francs. 


SLIPPERY  CLIMBING.  397 

It  is  customary  to  ascend  to  the  Grand  Mulets  on  the  first 
day,  rest  and  sleep  there,  climb  to  the  summit,  and  return  to 
the  Mulets  on  the  second  day,  and  descend  to  Chamonix  on 
the  third.  All  that  I  felt  I  could  do  in  forty-eight  hours. 
My  guide,  the  trink-geld  in  his  mind,  was  entirely  of  my 
opinion. 

Our  party  was  soon  ready.  It  consisted  of  two  tourists  be- 
sides myself — a  German  and  Englishman — and  five  guides 
and  porters.  The  German  intended  to  go  as  far  as  the  Grand 
Mulets,  and  the  Briton  was  determined  to  reach  the  summit, 
if  flesh  and  spirit  would  hold  together. 

"We  set  out  early  in  the  morning,  Alpenstocks  in  hand  ;  the 
porters  carrying  knapsacks  and  implements  enough  to  cross 
the  whole  range  of  the  Andes,  which  I  presumed  to  be  for  the 
sake  of  impressing  their  patrons  with  the  conviction  that  they 
earned  more  than  they  charged.  We  began  the  ascent  near 
the  village  where  a  huge  glacier  (Des  Bossons)  nearly  reaches 
the  Valley. 

The  glacier  resembles  a  sea  suddenly  frozen,  not  during  a 
tempest,  but  when  the  wind  has  lulled,  and  the  billows,  though 
still  very  high,  have  become  blunted  and  rounded.  The  icy 
billows  are  almost  parallel  to  the  length  of  the  glacier,  and 
are  intersected  by  tranverse  crevasses,  which,  while  white 
outside,  have  a  bluish-green  interior. 

The  glacier  was  slippery  and  steep,  and  the-climbing,  hour 
after  hour,  was  monotonous,  tedious,  and  tiresome. 

I  began  to  think  the  thing  as  great  a  bore  as  the  Mont 
Cenis  tunnel,  for  my  ankles  ached,  and,  as  the  sun  rose,  the 
heat  grew  uncomfortable.  The  fatigue  was  temporary.  I 
grew  accustomed  to  walking  on  the  ice  after  a  while,  and  my 
burning  blood  lent  energy  and  enthusiasm  to  my  march. 

I  had  been  wondering  where  the  ladders  were  to  be  used. 
I  found  out.  They  were  placed  across  the  crevasses,  which 
are  the  chasms  in  the  glaciers,  and  which,  when  covered  with 
snow,  are  treacherous  pitfalls,  letting  inexperienced  moun- 
taineers into  eternity  without  asking  their  leave.  A  number 
of  fatal  accidents  have  occurred  by  tourists  stepping  on  what 


398  DANGERS  OF  THE  ROUTE. 

they  supposed  firm  snow  or  ice,  and  disappearing  for  ever  in 
chasms  from  1,000  to  5,000  feet  deep. 

Most  of  the  crevasses  are  so  small  they  can  be  stepped  over, 
but  a  few  require  the  ladder,  which,  with  pointed  hooks,  holds 
the  ends  firm  while  you  cross.  The  guide  wanted  to  tie  a 
strong  eord  or  rope  about  my  waist  so  that,  in  the  event  of 
my  falling,  I  might  be  saved  from  a  broken  neck. 

I  objected  to  the  cord.  I  had  known  a  number  of  men 
whose  necks  had  been  broken  by  being  tied  to  a  rope,  and  I 
had  no  notion  of  going  out  of  the  world  dangling  to  a  cord. 
If  I  took  a  flying  trip  to  another  planet  I  wanted  to  travel 
disencumbered.  So  I  crossed  the  crevasses  generally  on  the 
ladder  without  being  tied. 

The  glaciers  that  seemed  only  a  few  hundred  yards  wide 
were  miles  in  extent.  I  fancied  sometimes  they  were  endless. 
The  sun,  now  very  hot,  melted  the  snow.  My  boots  sank 
into  it  and  splashed  the  little  rivulets  that  flowed  through  the 
frozen  surface.  My  feet  were  very  cold,  and  my  brain  was 
burning  up.  It  was  an  odd  sensation — winter  underfoot  and 
midsummer  overhead — certainly  not  according  to  the  received 
ideas  of  hygiene ;  but  I  knew  the  inversion  would  do  me  no 
harm,  as  my  health  had  always  been  invulnerable. 

I  got  along  vastly  better  than  my  companions,  who  weighed 
at  least  160  to  170  pounds  each,  and  who  wheezed  and  puffed 
along  like  consumptive  engines,  and  grew  supremely  tired 
every  half  mile.  The  true  Briton  became  profane  in  the 
midst  of  perspiration  and  fatigue,  and  would  have  retraced  his 
steps  several  times  if  it  had  not  been  as  hard  to  return  as  to 
go  on.  I  felicitated  myself  upon  my  having  an  avordupois  of 
only  about  120,  having  lost  by  months  of  hard  travel,  exercise 
and  perpetual  sight-seeings,  nearly  fifteen  pounds.  I  could 
have  distanced  my  fellow-tourists  every  hour,  if  I  had  had  my 
way,  and  I  was  anxious  that  they  should  give  up  the  journey 
that  I  might  the  sooner  accomplish  it.  The  Teuton  did  not 
relish  the  climbing,  and  would  frequently  exclaim,  Mein 
Crott,  mein  Grott,  es  ist  gefahrlich  (my  God,  my  God,  this  is 
dangerous),  and  wipe  his  brow  with  nervous  apprehension. 


DREADFUL  ACCIDENT.  399 

Some  of  the  places  on  the  route  certainly  looked  ugly.  We 
went  along  narrow  ledges  of  rock,  slippery  with  ice  and  snow, 
where  hardly  a  foothold  could  be  secured,  and  where  a  mis- 
step would  have  sent  us  over  precipices  of  thousands  of  feet. 
In  certain  parts  of  the  journey  we  slid  down  steep  declivities, 
being  very  careful  to  keep  our  feet  firm  lest  we  should  go 
bounding  down,  down,  down,  and  be  dashed  to  pieces  on  the 
sharp  rocks  bristling  below.  Under  those  circumstances  we 
were  tied  together  by  a  strong  rope,  so  that,  if  one  slipped,  he 
might  be  saved  by  the  holding  back  of  the  others.  More  than 
once,  but  for  such  precaution,  some  one  of  us  would  have 
broken  his  neck.  It  was  by  the  fracture  of  a  rope  that  three 
Englishmen,  Rev.  Mr.  Hudson,  Lord  Francis  Douglas,  and 
Mr.  Haddo,  with  one  of  the  guides,  lost  their  lives  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1864,  while  descending  the  Matterhorn — they  were  the 
first  to  climb  it — having  been  precipitated  from  a  point  near 
the  summit  to  a  depth  of  4,000  feet  upon  the  Matterhorn 
glacier.  There  is  little  doubt,  however,  that  the  entire  party, 
consisting  of  seven  persons,  would  have  perished  had  not  the 
rope  broken,  preventing  three  of  them  from  following  the  fate 
of  their  companions.  Mr.  Haddo  lost  his  footing,  and  dragged 
the  others  after  him  to  dizzy  death. 

Where  we  were  compelled  to  climb  down  steep  ice-covered 
rocks  with  a  yawning  precipice  at  the  base,  and  across  a  ladder 
to  a  ridge  of  snow-crowned  granite,  and  then  across  another  lad- 
der with  several  thousand  feet  of  airy  nothing  below,  the  ends 
of  the  latter  resting  only  on  the  ends  of  high  peaked  prom- 
ontories, it  was  quite  enough  to  test  the  steadiness  of  the 
brain  and  firmness  of  the  nerves.  However,  such  places 
seemed  much  more  perilous  than  they  really  were,  and  the 
peril  retreated,  I  discovered,  as  I  came  to  grapple  with  it 
directly.  To  a  man  of  cool  head  and  well  balanced  nervous 
system  there  is  little  danger,  except  in  case  of  accidents 
which  can  be  neither  foreseen  nor  avoided. 

Near  the  Grand  Mulets  the  rocks  are  extremely  rough,  as 
if  all  Nature  had  been  upheaved,  and  the  creeping  up  and 
over  the  icy  obstacles  is  very  fatiguing.     There  the  German 


400  SUPPING   INTO    CREVASSES. 

and  Englishmen  complained  louder  than  ever,  and  the  former 
constructed  a  theory  of  the  universe  which,  if  carried  out, 
would  have  prevented  much  of  our  trouble  and  not  a  few  of 
our  bruises. 

About  sundown  we  reached  the  Grand  Mulets,  where  we 
were  to  spend  the  night.  The  accommodations  were  rude, 
but  the  prices  were  extravagant  enough  to  have  insured  every 
luxury.  I  was  not  so  tired  as  I  had  expected,  but  I  was  fever- 
ish. My  nerves  were  all  aglow  ;  I  felt  as  if  I  could  climb  for  a 
week  without  food  or  sleep.  However,  I  lay  down  and  had 
snatches  of  oblivion,  with  dreams  of  crevasses,  glaciers,  and 
avalanches  without  end. 

The  German  and  Englishman,  after  two  bottles  of  wine 
and  several  pipes  of  tobacco,  decided  they  would  go  on  in  the 
morning,  but  being  called  about  daylight  the  former  was  too 
stiff  to  crawl  out  of  bed,  and  the  latter  doomed  his  optics  to 
perdition  if  he  would  climb  to  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  for 
the  whole  Bank  of  England  and  the  jewels  in  the  Tower  beside. 

I  was  up  at  dawn,  and  the  three  guides  who  were  to  ac- 
company me  with  all  their  Alpine  apparatus  strapped  to  their 
back. 

We  swallowed  a  few  mouthfuls — that  is  I  did — but  the 
guides  ate  like  cormorants,  perhaps  with  a  view  of  increasing 
the  expense,  which  is  always  borne  by  the  tourist.  We  had 
some  hard  climbing  from  the  outset.  The  guide  proffered 
me  aid,  but  I  declined  it.  I  made  a  show  of  freshness  when 
I  was  really  fatigued. 

What  right  had  I,  as  a  free-born  American  citizen,  to  know 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  physical  exhaustion  ?  I  climbed 
over  rocks  very  nimbly  while  my  throat  was  parched,  and  my 
pulse  and  heart  throbbed  violently.  Occasionally  I  slipped 
into  a  little  crevasse  up  to  my  waist ;  now  and  then  I  tum- 
bled over  a  rock ;  but  I  soon  righted  myself,  and  went  on 
with  a  firm  will  and  steady  step.  I  never  foupri  appearances 
quite  so  deceitful. 

I  was  confident  we  should  be  at  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc 
every  five  minutes  for  five  hours.    The  steeps  were  often  very 


THE  S  UMM1 T  AL  WA  YS  METRE  A  TING.  401 

steep.  We  had  to  use  our  staffs  and  hooks  frequently,  and 
once  in  a  while  the  guide  insisted  on  pushing  me  up  a  hard 
place,  though  I  vowed  I  did  not  need  his  aid. 

After  we  quitted  the  Mulets  the  atmosphere  grew  cold,  but 
still  the  rays  of  the  sun  were  intense.  I  wore  nothing  but  a 
close-fitting  silk  cap,  and  I  was  conscious  of  being  rapidly 
converted  into  a  red  man,  though  I  had  no  means  of  ascer- 
taining my  tribe.  I  was  very  anxious  to  thrust  my  staff  into 
the  snow  at  the  top  of  the  mountain.  I  wanted  to  prevent  it 
from  retreating,  as  it  had  been  doing  for  hours. 

Eternal  winter  reigned  around,  above,  and  below  us.  "We 
seemed  to  have  penetrated  the  great  heart  of  the  hyperbo- 
rean regions.  Nothing  anywhere  but  ice  and  snow,  gla- 
ciers and  crystal  seas. 

As  we  neared  the  oval  peak  of  Blanc,  I  looked  below  and 
saw  what  seemed  one  vast  glacier  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  Farther  down  we  could  hear  the  streams  flowing 
under  the  glaciers.  Up  there  the  cold  had  chained  every 
rivulet.  Icy  stalactites  hung  to  the  snow-covered  rocks. 
When  the  winds  blew,  particles  of  the  frost  pricked  my  face 
like  needles,  and  yet  the  sun  smote  me  with  fierceness.  My 
body  was  in  three  zones — the  Arctic  to  my  knees  ;  the  Tem- 
perate to  my  waist ;  the  Tropical  to  my  brain.  I  marvelled 
sometimes  I  was  not  sun-struck,  for  my  temples  beat  like 
caged  eagles  against  burning  bars. 

I  grew  very  thirsty  every  few  minutes.  I  stooped,  gathered 
the  driven  snow,  and  ate  it  voraciously  ;  or,  rather,  I  should 
have  done  so  if  it  had  not  melted  when  it  touched  my  parched 
lips.  I  fancied  I  could  hear  a  smothered  hiss  when  the  cool 
stream  ran  down  my  throat. 

The  way  grew  rougher,  and  harder,  and  steeper  as  we  ad- 
vanced, and  yet  I  walked,  and  hobbled,  and  climbed  much 
faster  than  there  was  any  need,  the  guides  said,  for  I  felt  a 
burning  restlessness  that  would  not  let  me  stop,  save  when 
exhausted  nature  demanded  pause.  My  heart  appeared  to 
rise  into  my  mouth,  which  was  dry  and  parched  ;  my  lips,  I 
know,  grew  white,  and  I  felt  the  fever  sparkling  in  my  eye. 


402  THE  T0P  AT  LAST. 

Sometimes  there  was  a  sharp  pain  in  my  heart,  and  a  sense  of 
suffocation  in  my  throat ;  but  I  still  smiled  grimly,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  AUons,  allons ;  il  faut  se  depeeher ;"  when  my 
strained  limbs  answered  only  to  my  strained  will,  well-nigh 
overtasked. 

Another  half  an  hour,  yea,  an  hour.  Still  on  the  glaciers. 
Still  deeper  and  higher  among  the  ice  and  snows. 

The  glaciers  are  the  most  remarkable  features  of  the  Alps. 
They  are  formed  of  the  granulous  snow  which  accumulates  in 
the  valleys  and  clefts  in  the  rocks  above  the  snow  line — eight 
thousand  feet — which  is  melted  by  day  and  frozen  by  night, 
thus  adding  layer  upon  layer  of  the  purest  ice.  Some  of  the 
glaciers  are  said  to  be  fifteen  hundred  feet  thick,  though  most 
of  them  are  much  less.  They  are  always  in  motion,  but  not 
perceptibly,  and  sometimes  acquire  such  size  and  force  that 
they  carry  everything  before  them — soil,  trees,  rocks,  and 
houses. 

I  had  resolved  to  think  no  more  of  getting  to  the  top  of 
Mont  Blanc  ;  in  fact,  I  had  half  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  had  no  top.  While  I  was  slipping  along,  driving  my  iron- 
shod  staff  into  the  ice  at  every  step,  the  guide  called  out : 
"  Eh  bien,  Monsieur  Chamois  (the  flattering  name  he  gave 
me),  enfin  nous  sommes  arrive's."  (Well,  Mr.  Chamois,  we 
have  arrived  at  last.") 

I  did  not  believe  it.  I  cast  my  eyes  upward.  Sure 
enough,  there  was  no  more  tantalizing  stretch  of  ice  above 
me.  I  sat  down,  and  calling  for  the  wine,  drank  a  deep 
draught ;  told  my  companions  Mont  Blanc  did  not  amount  to 
much,  and  that  if  they  wanted  to  see  mountains  they  must 
come  to  America. 

But  the  view  ?  There  wasn't  any.  The  clouds  shut  out 
everything. 

I  could  hear  my  heart  thump  in  the  audible  and  awful 
stillness,  but  my  oft-deceived  eyes  told  me,  beyond  doubt, 
that  I  had  finally  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  peak  which  I 
had  watched  and  aspired  to  in  the  valley  miles  below.  I  had 
panted  for  it ;  then  I  panted  by  it  hard  and  fast.     For  half  a 


SENSATION  EXHAUSTED. 


403 


minute  I  had  the  satisfaction,  the  achievement  of  any  object, 
earnestly  desired,  always  gives,  and  then  the  sensation  and 
satisfaction  were  exhausted.  The  fleeting  present  sparkled 
for  a  moment,  and  fell  flat  in  the  beaker  of  experience, 
never  to  sparkle  again. 

I  lifted  my  voice  and  shouted.  The  echqes  answered  with 
ten-fold  power  strangely,  solemnly  drearily,  as  if  they  had 
never  before  been  awakened  by  mortal  man ;  and  then  the  si- 
lence deepened  once  more  into  what  seemed  a  soundless  eter- 
nity, the  return  of  nature  to  brooding  chaos. 

I  had  not  expected  to  see  anything.  I  was  not  disap- 
pointed.    I  had  the  reward  of  every  deed  in  having  done  it. 

Was  I  fatigued  ?  If  I  were  somebody  else  I  should  answer 
in  the  affirmative,  with  a  profane  emphasis. 


CHAPTER    LIL 


THE    BERNESE    OBERLAND    AND    VICINITY. 

URING  my  wanderings  in  Switzerland  I  often 
took  the  pilgrim's  staff  and  knapsack  when  I 
deemed  it  advisable,  and  went  into  the  moun- 
tains, independent  of  porters,  drivers,  and 
lackeys  of  all  sorts.  There  is  a  feeling  of  indi- 
vidual sovereignty  in  such  genuine  tourist  mode 
that  I  like  ;  hut  still  it  has  its  counterbalancing 
discomforts.  After  sustaining  the  role  of  Octavian,  I  perceived 
wherein  I  had  suffered.  First,  my  clothes  were  damaged 
beyond  repair,  and  my  boots  gaped  like  a  church-yard  in 
cholera-time.  I  was  burned  like  an  Indian  from  my  throat 
to  my  forehead,  so  that,  when  prepared  for  the  bath,  I  looked 
as  if  in  some  miscellaneous  distribution  of  bodies  and  heads  I 
had  gotten  hold  of  the  parts  that  did  not  belong  to  me. 

After  several  days'  climbing,  I  underwent  sundry  com- 
plexional  modifications.  The  skin  on  my  face  peeled  off 
partially,  and  becoming  crimsoned  and  bronzed  again,  I  was 
resplendent  in  facial  hues.  Indeed,  I  regarded  myself  as  a 
curious  specimen  of  natural  history  which  Agassiz  would 
hesitate  to  classify. 

When  I  reached  my  baggage  I  was  able  to  change  myself  back 
into  the  form  of  a  nomadic  American,  which  I  originally  bore. 
My  complexion  for  some  time  retained  its  varied  colors,  which 
might  have  puzzled  the  political  ethnologists  who  are  in  doubt 
whether  the  red  or  black  man  should  enjoy  the  elective  fran- 
chise. If  suffrage  were  universal,  I  should  have  been 
privileged  to  vote  several  times  on  my  face,  for  the  white 


SWISS  CASCADES. 


405 


man,  the  red  man,  the  brown  man,  and  the  black  man  that  I 
represented  could  each  have  cast  a  vote. 

One  of  my  latest  walks  was  from  Interlaken  to  Lauterbrun- 
nen  ;  thence  to  Grindelwald  and  by  the  Great  Scheideck  and 
Rosenlaui  glacier  to  Meringen.  The  first  walk,  six  or  seven 
miles,  is  by  a  good  road.  Lauterbrunnen  is  in  a  rocky 
valley,  the  mountains  rising  precipitately  on  both  sides, 
where  the  sun,  even  in  summer,  does  not  make  its  appearance 
much  before  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  There  are  numer- 
ous waterfalls  in  the  vicinity  (Lauterbrunnen  means  "nothing 
but  springs"),  and  their  pouring  over  the  lofty  precipices 
gives  a  grand  effect  to  the  gloomy  valley  in  which  the  village 
lies  almost  hidden.  The  Staubbach  (dust  brook)  descends 
unbroken  for  over  nine  hundred  feet ;  but  as  the  volume  of 
water  is  small,  it  is  changed  into  spray  before  reaching  the 
base.  In  the  morning,  when  stirred  by  the  breeze  and  shone 
upon  by  the  sun,  the  little  cascade  is  spangled  with  rainbows, 
that  rise  and  fall  and  sway  to  and  -  fro  with  every  varying 
breeze.  It  seemed  to  me,  when  looking  at  it,  as  if  Nature,  or 
one  of  her  daughters,  had  put  on  a  variegated  petticoat  on  a 
windy  day,  for  all  to  admire  who  could. 

The  Trumlenbach  is  another  cascade  of  note.  Fed  by  the 
glaciers  of  the  Jungfrau,  it  rushes  rapidly  over  a  narrow 
chasm,  and  roars  so  you  can  hear  it  for  two  miles.  It  is  not 
high,  however,  and  therefore  loses  much  in  consequence. 

The  finest  fall  I  have  seen  in  Switzerland  is  the  Giessbacn, 
on  the  lake  of  Brienz,  opposite  the  village  of  that  name.  It  has 
seven  cataracts,  from  seventy-five  to  a  hundred  feet  each,  and 
its  entire  descent  is  eleven  hundred  feet  above  the  lake.  You 
can  ascend  to  the  loftiest  point  by  a  path,  and  each  cascade  is 
crossed  by  a  bridge.  The  Giessbach  is,  on  the  whole,  the 
most  picturesque  fall  I  have  ever  known,  and  when  illuminated 
after  dark  by  Bengal  lights,  is  striking  in  the  extreme. 

The  Reichenbach,  partially  in  sight  from  Meringen,  is 
higher  than  the  Giessbach,  but  not  so  beautiful.  It  makes 
splendid  rainbows,  and  plunges  over  the  rocks  above  in  sheets 
of  splendid  foam. 


406  VIEW  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

En  route  to  Grindelwald  the  first  ascent  after  crossing  the 
Liitschine  is  quite  fatiguing,  and  has  often  discouraged  pedes- 
trians at  the  start.  As  Switzerland  is  not  visited  until  sum- 
mer, you  are  compelled  to  do  your  climbing  with  a  high 
temperature,  and  going  up  steep  mountains  in  the  burning 
sun  is  one  of  the  pleasures  for  which  few  persons  secretly 
sigh.  Heat,  perspiration,  and  shortness  of  breath  are  rarely 
becoming,  and  still  more  rarely  are  they  enjoyable. 

When  you  have  reached  the  HQtel  Jungfrau,  you  have  a 
splendid  view  of  that  mountain.  Towering  up  before  you, 
covered  with  ice  and  snow,  like  a  giant  striving  to  scale 
Heaven,  it  fills  you  with  a  sense  of  grandeur  that  is  not  sur- 
passed even  by  the  famous  view  of  the  Mont  Blanc  range  from 
Montanvert.  The  Jungfrau  is  but  12,287  feet,  not  so  high  as 
Mont  Blanc  by  2,500  feet;  but  it  is  fully  as  imposing  between 
the  two  peaks  of  the  Silberhorn  and  Schneehorn,  thrusting 
its  immense  fields  of  snow  above  the  clouds.  If  mountains 
are  capable  of  inspiring  awe,  the  Jungfrau  will  do  it  when 
viewed  from  the  altitude  on  which  the  hotel  is  situated. 

The  panorama  from  the  Little  Scheideck  is  striking.  It 
embraces  the  entire  valley  of  the  Grindelwald,  the  flattened 
cone  of  the  Faulhorn,  and  the  Monch,  Eiger,  and  Schreckhorn, 
the  giants  of  the  Bernese  Oberland.  The  descent  to  Grindel- 
wald is  very  tedious,  much  of  it  being  on  a  narrow  path 
covered  with  loose  stones  which  slip  and  wound  the  feet  at 
every  few  steps. 

In  the  Reichenbach  valley,  not  far  from  Meringen,  is  one  of 
the  most  charming  pictures  in  the  country.  It  is  a  rich  and 
fertile  valley,  skirted  by  pine  forests,  and  watered  by  a  rapid 
stream,  with  a  vast  mountain  background  of  bold  peaks  and 
snow-crowned  pyramids,  that  render  it  particularly  imposing. 
The  valley  is  crowded  with  infinite  variety  of  landscape,  and 
would  give  delightful  employment  to  an  artist  for  a  whole 
season. 

The  famous  glaciers  of  Grindelwald  are  not  very  remarkable 
after  you  have  examined  those  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Vale  of 
Chamonix.    Still,  they  well  repay  a  visit  from  the  novice  in  the 


AN  A]  ALAN  CUE  REGION.  40  7 

Alps.  The  lower  glacier  is  3,150  feet  at  the  base,  and  is  con- 
tinually advancing  and  thrusting  its  moraine  before  it.  By 
ascending  it  you  have  a  fine  sight  of  what  are  called  ice- 
needles  in  many  fantastic  forms.  I  know  persons  who  have 
always  regretted  going  out  of  Switzerland  without  seeing  the 
glaciers.  They  are  not  very  remarkable  after  all.  They  are, 
as  I  have  said,  merely  vast  bodies  of  frozen  ice,  which  in  their 
largest  forms  are  called  mers  de  glace.  They  are  formed  of 
melted  snow  and  ice,  which  freezes  again  and  again,  and  con- 
stantly descends  toward  the  valley  down  the  mountain  side. 
They  are  very  pure  ice  usually,  having  a  blue  color  wherever 
they  are  opened  (the  open  space  is  a  crevasse) ,  and  often  as- 
suming the  form  on  the  surface  of  frozen  billows.  They  are 
somewhat  impressive  when  one  walks  over  them,  as  I  have 
done  for  miles  ;  but  having  become  acquainted  with  a  prime 
glacier  its  fellows  lose  their  interest.  The  crevasses  are 
sometimes  very  wide  and  deep.  The  Rosenlaui  has  an  enor- 
mous crevasse,  into  which  a  stone  thrown  is  many  seconds  in 
reaching  the  bottom. 

Avalanches  are  what  nearly  all  ambitious  tourists  desire  to 
see,  above  all  other  Alpine  phenomena ;  and  yet  many  are 
obliged  to  leave  the  country  without  gratification.  I  presume 
I  have  been  fortunate.  I  have  seen  avalanches  without  num- 
ber on  the  Mont  Blanc  chain,  on  the  Jungfrau,  the  Wetter- 
horn,  Matterhorn,  and  the  Monch.  Indeed,  they  have  fallen 
wherever  I  have  been,  as  if  for  my  special  benefit.  They  are 
caused  by  the  accumulation  of  vast  masses  of  snow  and  ice  on 
the  upper  part  of  the  mountains.  Partially  melted  by  the 
sun,  they  slide  off,  and  go  thundering  and  crashing  over 
precipices  and  down  rocky  steeps.  They  often  resemble 
cataracts,  and  are  likely  to  be  mistaken  for  them.  They  are 
disappointing  generally;  for,  viewed  at  a  great  distance, 
though  they  appear  near,  they  show  like  simple  snow-slides. 
What  seems  to  be  a  common  white  cascade,  is  really  hun- 
dreds, aye,  thousands,  of  tons  of  ice  and  snow,  capable  of  car- 
rying away  forests  and  villages  in  their  headlong  course. 
They  tumble  generally  into  uninhabited  districts,  and  do  little 


408  RESULT  OF  A  FLOOD. 

injury,  though  whole  towns  have  been  overwhelmed  by  them, 
as  in  the  canton  of  Schweitz,  in  1806,  when  three  villages 
were  completely  destroyed.  The  RhSne  Valley  has,  in  times 
past,  suffered  so  severely  from  avalanches,  that  during  the 
winter  no  one  lives  in  their  track.  During  the  warm  weather 
there  are  ice  avalanches ;  during  the  cold  season  they  are 
mainly  of  snow,  drifted  to  vast  volumes  by  the  terrible  Alpine 
storms. 

There  is  one  spot  near  the  Great  Scheideck — it  is  in  the 
region  of  the  Monch  and  Eiger — where  avalanches  abound.  I 
have  known  half  a  dozen  there  in  half  an  hour  ;  some  of  them 
raising  such  a  cloud  of  snow-mist  as  completed  their  resem- 
blance to  a  cataract.  I  am  not  aware  that  I  am  the  discov- 
erer of  that  avalanche  neighborhood,  but  I  should  think,  if  its 
peculiarity  were  known,  that  several  hotels  would  spring  up 
there  immediately.  They  would  certainly  do  well,  for  ava- 
lanches are  more  sought  after  than  any  other  Swiss  spectacle. 

I  enjoyed  Meringen  during  the  days  I  tarried  there.  On  the 
bank  of  the  Aare,  in  a  valley  three  miles  wide,  surrounded  by 
wooded  mountains  and  overshadowed  by  snow-crowned  pinna- 
cles, with  three  brooks  descending  from  the  Hasliburg  in  grace- 
ful waterfalls,  Meringen  is  a  remarkably  inviting  spot,  and 
from  its  neighborhood  numerous  excursions  may  be  made.  The 
brooks  often  overflow  their  banks,  and  cover  the  whole  vicin- 
ity with  mud,  stones,  and  fragments  of  rock  brought  down 
from  the  adjacent  heights.  Such  a  flood  destroyed  the  greater 
part  of  the  village  in  1762,  and  filled  the  church  with  debris 
to  the  depth  of  eighteen  feet,  as  is  still  shown  by  a  black  line 
on  the  wall.  The  inhabitants  of  the  district  (Hasli-Thal) 
are  traditionally  supposed  to  be  descendants  of  the  Swedes  or 
Friedlanders  ;  are  noticeable  for  their  pure  dialect,  pictur- 
esque costumes,  and  slight  but  wiry  frames.  They  excel  as 
wrestlers,  and  in  many  of  the  matches  so  common  during  the 
summer  months  on  the  Rigi,  Stadtalp,  Wengernalp,  and  else- 
where. 

At  stated  times  the  young  men  of  a  valley  or  of  several 
neighboring  valleys  meet,  for  a   trial  of  strength   and  skill, 


TEE  FINEST  LAKE.  409 

their  friends  and  acquaintances  being  the  spectators.  For  a 
decisive  victory  one  of  the  antagonists  must  be  thrown  by  the 
other  on  his  back,  and  so  energetically  and  obstinately  are  the 
contests  conducted  that  serious  and  even  fatal  injuries  not  in- 
frequently result.  These  wrestling  matches,  when  not  gotten 
up  for  mere  show  and  gain,  as  at  Interlaken,  Lucerne,  and 
Zurich,  are  curious  and  exciting,  though  sometimes  painful 
for  the:r  prolongation. 

Meiringen  is  one  of  the  few  places  I  have  visited  where  I 
could  see  the  grandest  landscapes,  forests,  mountains,  gla- 
ciers, and  cascades  out  of  the  window,  without  the  trouble  of 
changing  my  position  in  bed. 

I  went  to  Lake  Lucerne  by  the  Briinig  pass,  which  is  pictur- 
esque, though  not  grand,  like  the  St.  Gothard,  Simplon,  or 
Splugen. 

I  have  been  on  all  the  Lakes  of  any  note  in  the  country, 
and  I  admire  Lucerne  above  any  other.  I  prefer  it  to  Lu- 
gano, Como,  or  Maggiore,  for  variety  and  picturesqueness. 
Neuchatel  and  Constance  arc  tame  in  comparison  with  the 
others.  Brienz,  Thun,  and  Zug,  are  too  contracted  to  awake 
enthusiasm.  Geneva  is  admirable  at  its  upper  end,  but  loses 
character  as  you  go  to  the  lower  part.  Como,  with  its  verdure- 
covered  mountains,  that  seem  to  run  down  to  drink  its  pure 
waters,  with  its  purple  shadows,  and  its  delightful  villas,  lingers 
in  the  mind  a  lov.ely  dream  of  Italy.  Maggiore,  soft-skied, 
island-studded,  Alp-crowned,  leads  you  through  delightful 
windings  from  majesty  to  pictured  repose. 

But  Lucerne  combines  the  exquisite  features  of  all  the  rest. 
It  has  the  softness  of  Como,  the  beauty  of  Geneva,  and  the 
variety  of  Maggiore.  Cruciform  in  shape,  it  is  as  four  differ- 
ent bodies  of  water ;  the  bay  of  Lucerne  forming  the  head,  the 
bays  of  Kiisnacht  and  Alpnach  the  arms,  and  the  Lake  of  Uri 
the  foot.  From  Fluelen  to  Lucerne  it  is  twenty-five  miles 
long,  and  four  miles  wide,  and  some  fifteen  between  the  ex- 
tremities of  the  arms.  Its  beautiful  banks  are  associated  with 
William  Tell  (of  him  the  rude  iconoclasts  of  the  day  have  left 
us  little  to  admire),  or  at  least  with  Schiller's  poetic  version 


410  CITY  OF  ZURICH. 

of  the  apocryphal  hero.  The  Lake  is  full  of  charming  sur- 
prises, and  the  new  always  appears  lovelier  than  the  old. 
You  look  to  the  north  or  the  south,  and  islands  and  villas 
greet  you ;  beyond  them,  emerald  hills,  dotted  with  romantic 
hamlets,  ruined  castles,  and  beyond  those  again  range  upon 
range  of  the  Alps,  fading  through  snow  and  cloud  into  the 
blue  splendor  of  the  overarching  heavens.  I  doubt  if  Lucerne 
has  its  equal  on  the  globe.  It  is  a  noble  lyric  of  landscape, 
and  its  vision  stirs  the  recollection  of  all  beautiful  things 
within  you  like  the  strains  of  Beethoven  or  the  lines  of  Shakes- 
peare. 

The  city  of  Lucerne  will  always  be  a  pleasant  memory — am- 
phitheatrical  in  situation  on  the  Reuss,  where  it  emerges 
from  the  Lake,  between  the  Rigi  and  Pilatus,  facing  the  snow- 
clad  Urner  and  Engelberger  Alps,  and  conspicuous  by  its  walls 
and  watch-towers.  Two  of  its  old  roofed  bridges  covered  with 
quaint  paintings  of  saints — the  dance  of  death  and  historic 
scenes,  are  curious  and  interesting. 

The  chief  art  attraction,  outside  the  Waggis  Gate,  is  the 
Lion  of  Lucerne,  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock  after  a  model  by 
Thorwaldsen,  in  memory  of  the  twenty-six  officers  and  seven 
hundred  and  sixty  soldiers  of  the  Swiss  Guard  massacred  in 
defense  of  the  Tuileries,  August  10th,  1792.  The  lion,  twen- 
ty-eight or  thirty  feet  long,  is  reclining  in  a  grotto,  his  body 
transfixed  by  a  broken  lance,  and  his  paw  sheltering  the  Bour- 
bon lily.  The  work  is  excellent  and  full  of  spirit.  Though 
Lucerne  has  a  population  oi  less  than  12,000,  4,000  or  5,000 
strangers  are  often  there  in  summer,  and  some  of  them  find 
slender  accommodation  even  at  the  large  and  superb  hotels. 

Zurich  I  quitted  unwillingly,  as  almost  any  one  does  who 
has  any  fondness  for  beautiful  scenery.  It  is  at  the  extremity 
of  the  Lake  (Zurich),  on  the  banks  of  the  Limmat,  dividing 
it  into  two  parts.  On  both  sides  of  the  Lake  are  orchards, 
vineyards,  and  villages,  and  beyond  them  the  grand  back- 
ground of  the  towering  and  snowy  Alps  looking  deliciously 
cool  amid  summer  heat's.  The  city  is  the  most  flourishing  of 
the  Swiss  manufacturing  towns,  and  the  literary  center  of 


PERIODICAL  INSANITY.  411 

German  Switzerland.  Its  population  is  nearly  21,000,  and 
including  the  suburbs  some  46,000  or  47,000. 

The  hotel  where  I  stayed  (the  Baur  au  Lac),  is  the  most 
delightfully  situated  public  house  I  have  seen  anywhere.  It 
is  on  the  banks  of  the  Lake ;  is  almost  surrounded  by  beauti- 
ful gardens,  one  of  which  runs  down  to  the  water's  edge,  from 
which  you  have  a  magnificent  view  of  the  Lake  and  the  Alps. 
A  bath-house  is  adjacent,  and  you  can  step  into  a  row  or  sail 
boat  any  time  for  a  pleasure  or  a  fishing  excursion.  The  sun- 
sets, and  the  twilight  and  the  evening  are  delightful,  as  seen 
from  the  garden.  I  have  sat  there  hour  after  hour  hardly 
able  to  leave  so  lovely  a  scene.  You  hear  music,  both  vocal 
and  instrumental,  on  the  water,  and  the  air  is  loaded  with  the 
fragrance  of  the  flowers  and  the  blossoms  of  the  locusts  which 
grow  there  in  profusion.  What  surprised  me  was  that  there 
were  so  few  Americans  or  English  at  Zurich.  The  house  was 
very  full,  but  the  guests  were  mostly  Germans,  Dutch,  French, 
and  Italians.  I  have  no  motive  and  no  disposition  to  "  puff" 
hotels ;  but  I  believe  I  do  an  act  of  benevolence  to  my  travel- 
ing countrymen  when  I  call  their  attention  to  the  Bam-  au 
Lac. 

I  remember  Cappri,  Ischia,  Pozzuoli,  and  all  the  famous 
retreats  about  Naples ;  but  I  give  preference  to  the  situation 
of  the  hotel  in  question.  I  don't  know  the  landlord,  but  I 
have  been  told  he  becomes  insane  at  the  end  of  every  season, 
and  regains  his  wits  just  before  the  opening  of  business.  I 
can't  account  for  this  except  that  he  seems  to  deal  honestly 
with  his  patrons,  which  may  be  a  sure  symptom  of  mental  de- 
rangement in  Switzerland. 

The  public  houses  in  the  country  are  in  the  main  excellent, 
though  you  need  to  look  out  for  overcharges.  But  the  Trois 
Couronnes,  at  Vevay ;  the  Schweizerhof,  at  Lucerne,  and  the 
Giessbach,  at  the  celebrated  cascade,  have  the  finest  situa- 
tions (the  Baur  au  Lac  always  excepted)  I  have  seen  in 
Europe. 


CHAPTER    LITI. 

SWITZERLAND CONTINUED. 

s^g^REIBURG,  capital  of  the  canton  of  the 
same  name,  owes  its  origin — and  its  10,000 
or  11,000  inhabitants,  I  suppose — to  Berthold, 
of  Zahringen,  who,  seven  centuries  ago,  showed  his 
good  taste  in  and  understanding  of  town  sites  by 
founding  this  city.  It  stands  on  a  rocky  eminence 
surrounded  by  the  Sarine — is  very  like  Bern  in 
situation — and  forms  the  boundary  between  the  French  and 
German-speaking  population  of  Switzerland;  German  being 
the  language  of  the  lower,  and  French  of  the  upper  part  of 
the  town. 

Freiburg  is  exceedingly  picturesque,  as  I  found  out  by 
walking  from  the  railway  station  to  the  elevated  site  occupied 
by  the  Jesuits'  College,  thence  across  the  Suspension  Bridge 
(it  is  905  feet  long,  22  broad,  175  above  the  river,  is  sus- 
pended by  four  chains,  nearly  1,200  feet  long,  forming  a 
single  arch)  by  the  road  to  the  Pont  de  Gotteron  (a  similar 
bridge  to  the  other,  but  285  feet  above  the  water,  and  span- 
ning a  deep  rocky  ravine) ,  which  I  crossed  and  proceeded  by 
numerous  windings  to  a  group  of  houses,  known  as  Bourgillon, 
just  outside  of  the  town.  To  go  from  the  upper  to  the  lower 
part  of  the  city  is  like  passing  from  one  country  to  another. 
The  man  you  meet  one  moment  is  voluble  in  the  Gallic 
tongue,  and  the  next  person  you  address  in  the  same  language 
has  no  conception  of  your  meaning.  You  must  change  the 
nasal  for  the  guttural,  and  indulge  in  genug,  and  nein,  and 
gehen  Sie  weg,  instead  of  assez,  and  non,  and  va-t-en,  to  the 
miscellaneous  throng  that  persecute  travelers  on  the  Conti- 
nent. 


AN  ORGAN-IC  STORM.  413 

The  Church  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  Episcopal  Cathedral,  is  a 
good  specimen  of  Gothic  ;  is  nearly  six  centuries  old,  and  its 
reliefs  on  the  portal,  representing  the  Last  Judgment,  Heaven 
and  Hell,  are  as  grotesque  in  the  light  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury as  they  were  no  doubt  terror-inspiring  to  the  monkish 
superstitions  of  the  past. 

The  organ  of  the  church  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated  in 
Europe,  and  the  sacristan  who  shows  it  does  not  fail  to  tell 
you  that  it  has  sixty-seven  stops  and  seventy-eight  hundred 
pipes,  some  of  them  thirty-two  feet  long. 

The  organist,  M.  Yogt,  plays  every  evening,  and  the  franc 
paid  for  hearing  him  yields  a  large  interest  in  melody.  A 
composition  descriptive  of  a  storm — a  favorite  on  the 
Continent — was  very  impressive.  The  rich  volumes  of  sound, 
imitating  the  strife  of  the  elements,  rolled  through  the  ancient 
arches  in  the  gathering  shadows  of  the  evening,  and  throbbed 
and  sighed  and  wailed  to  the  airy  ghosts  my  aroused  imagina- 
tion had  created.  I  enjoyed  the  music  greatly,  as  did  the  thirty 
or  forty  strangers  who  has  assembled  in  the  church,  and  all 
seemed  unwilling  to  depart  when  silence  followed  the  darkness 
that  had  fallen  almost  imperceptibly  while  the  musician 
touched  the  keys  and  their  hearts  together. 

In  front  of  the  Town  Hall,  an  old  linden  tree,  fifteen  feet  in 
circumference,  partly  supported  by  stone  pillars,  was  originally 
a  twig  (according  to  tradition)  borne  by  a  young  Freiburger 
who  ran  bleeding,  breathless,  and  exhausted  into  the  city  to 
announce  the  victory  at  Morat  over  Charles  the  Bold,  nearly 
four  hundred  years  ago. 

I  like  the  situation  of  Neuchatel  (about  10,000  population) 
as  it  is  built  on  the  steep  slope  of  the  Jura,  rising  like  an 
amphitheatre  from  the  Neuchatel  Lake  (twenty-seven  miles 
long  and  six  wide).  The  new  quarter  of  the  town,  containing 
many  handsome  houses,  is  on  the  Lake  ;  and  the  Castle,  on 
an  eminence,  is  the  seat  of  the  government  of  the  canton. 
The  College  has  a  small  collection  of  minerals  and  fossils 
made  by  Agassiz  when  he  was  a  professor  there.  The  Chau- 
niont,  a  spur  of  the  Jura  chain,  to  the  north  of  the  town, 


414  LEGENDS   OF  A   CHURCH. 

commands  a  fine  view  of  the  Lake,  the  surrounding  country 
and  villages,  with  the  entire  Alpine  range  from  the  Sentis  to 
Mont  Blanc,  when  the  atmosphere  happens  to  be  favorable. 
The  Lake  is  so  far  inferior  to  the  beautiful  bodies  of  water  of 
the  higher  Alps  that  it  seems  common-place,  though  in  another 
country  it  would  be  thought  quite  picturesque, 

The  most  important  branch  of  industry  in  the  canton,  par- 
ticularly at  La  Chaux  de  Fonds  and  Le  Locle,  is  the  manu- 
facture of  watches,  many  of  them  being  sold  at  Geneva. 
At  the  two  towns  mentioned  about  250,000  watches  are  an- 
nually manufactured. 

Basel  is  less  interesting  than  I  had  expected  to  find  it,  re- 
membering it  as  the  Basilea  of  the  Roman  army  in  the  fourth 
century.  It  is  the  second  city  of  Switzerland  in  population 
(45,000),  but  the  first  in  wealth,  manufactures,  and  com- 
mercial importance,  which  it  owes  to  its  position  on  the 
Rhine,  at  the  junction  of  the  frontiers  of  France  and  Germany. 
The  river  divides  the  city  into  Great  and  Little  Basel,  which 
are  connected  by  a  wooden  bridge.  The  Minister  is  an  im- 
posing and  historic  church,  built  by  the  Emperor  Henry  II. 
in  1010,  and  afterwards  burned  down  and  shaken  down  by  an 
earthquake.  It  was  there  the  celebrated  Council,  composed 
of  five  hundred  clergymen,  assembled  in  1431  to  establish  a 
reformation  of  the  Church.  They  disputed  for  five  or  six 
years  without  any  result,  until  Pope  Eugene  IV.,  growing 
tired  of  their  wrangling,  excommunicated  the  whole  contro- 
versial crew. 

In  the  Minister  are  buried  many  historic  characters,  among 
them  Erasmus  and  the  Empress  Anna,  wife  of  Rudolph  of 
Hapsburg  and  mother  of  the  line  of  Austrian  princes.  Basel 
is  walled  and  moderately  well-built,  the  streets  clean,  but  ir- 
regular, and  liberally  supplied  with  fountains. 

Just  outside  the  gates  is  a  Gothic  obelisk  to  commemorate 
the  battle  of  St.  Jacob  in  1444,  when  1,300  Swiss  attempted 
to  force  their  passage  to  the  town,  against  which  30,000 
French,  under  the  Dauphin  (afterwards  Louis  XL),  were 
marching  to  attack  the  Confederates.     After  a  desperate  con- 


A  SWISS   TOWN   WITH    GERMAN  ATTACHMENTS-        41-3 

flict  the  brave  Switzers  were  to  a  man  cut  to  pieces,  and  the 
memory  of  their  heroism  is  preserved  in  the  name  of  the 
wine — Swiss  Blood — made  from  the  vineyards  occupying  the 
scene  of  the  unequal  struggle.  This  action  gave,  it  is  said, 
to  the  Swiss  their  earliest  reputation  for  valor,  and  was  the 
cause  of  the  enrollment  of  the  Swiss  Body  Guard  of  France. 

Arriving  at  Bern,  I  find  myself  in  as  German  a  community 
as  if  1  had  been  in  Cologne  or  Dusseldorf.  The  shops,  the 
streets,  the  signs,  the  people,  the  fountains,  the  hotels,  the 
cooking,  make  you  think  you  are  in  a  wholly  different  country 
from  that  including  Geneva  or  Lausanne.  The  odor  of  cheese 
and  beer  assails  you  under  the  arcades ;  blood-puddings  and 
ferocious  sausages  stare  you  out  of  countenance  ;  large-waisted 
women  in  queer  costumes  plant  themselves  in  your  way; 
broad-faced  men,  with  long  pipes  and  oily  complexions,  run 
against  you  and  say  Guten  tag-,  mein  Kerr,  and  pass  you  puff- 
ing like  a  Western  steamboat.  You  have  to  fight  for  ventila- 
tion, for  your  true  German  stands  in  mortal  fear  of  the 
smallest  draught.  Your  chamber  is  closed  like  a  castle  in 
time  of  siege.  A  huge  feather-bag  is  put  upon  your  bed, 
though  the  weather  be  as  hot  as  Tophet,  and  you  have  sought 
repose  in  the  garb  of  the  Apollo  Belvidere. 

Bern  is  admirably  situated,  and  its  surroundings  are  not 
surpassed  by  any  city  in  Switzerland.  If  any  one,  however, 
expects  to  behold  all  the  famous  mountains  which  the  guide- 
books tell  him  he  can  see  from  various  points  in  the  town,  he 
will  be  disappointed.  To  have  an  appreciative  view  of  the 
Alps,  as  I  said  before,  you  must  go  among  them.  Still,  on 
clear  summer  evenings,  about  sunset,  you  can  enjoy  a  superb 
panorama  while  dining  in  the  Garden  of  the  Casino,  or  from 
the  terrace  of  the  Federal  Hall. 

When  I  was  last  at  Bern,  the  two  National  Councils  were 
in  session  (they  sit  in  July  generally) ,  and  I  had  an  opportu- 
nity to  hear  their  debates.  The  bodies  answered  to  our  Senate 
and  House,  and  are  composed  of  very  intelligent-looking  men, 
of  apparently  strong  character.  They  speak  in  German, 
French,  Italian,  and  sometimes  the  Swiss  dialect,  which  sounds 


41G  EXAMPLE  FOR   CONGRESSMEN. 

very  odd  at  first.  The  French  speakers  have  the  most  to 
say,  the  Italians  next,  and  the  Germans  least.  I  observed, 
however,  that,  judged  by  the  American  standard,  they  were 
all  superhumanly  reticent.  The  most  extended  harangue 
was  an  epigram  compared  to  what  I  have  heard  in  Congress* 
I  think  the  debates  are  not  reported,  which  may  account  for 
their  brevity.  I  am  convinced  it  our  poiticians  at  Washing- 
ton had  no  expectation  of  seeing  what  they  say  in  print,  they 
would  talk  far  less  and  do  much  more.  I  could  not  help  but 
notice  that  at  Bern  there  were  no  buncombe  speeches,  as  we 
style  them.  What  the  Representatives  said  was  to  the  point, 
and  they  knew  when  they  were  done — a  dizzy  height  of  wis- 
dom we  seem  never  likely  to  reach. 

Bern,  derived  from  Baren  (bears),  is  mainly  remarkable 
for  those  animals  (the  operators  for  a  fall  in  Wall  street 
should  live  there),  which  seem  to  be  apotheosized  by  the  in- 
habitants of  the  canton.  The  bear  is  to  the  Bernese  what  the 
ibis  was  to  the  ancient  Egyptians.  They  have,  near  the 
Aare  River,  a  bear's  den,  in  which  some  huge  and  ferocious 
animals  are  confined.  They  have  bears  carved  on  the  city 
gates,  and  bears  on  their  heraldic  devices.  They  have  a  me- 
chanical clock,  in  which  bears  play  the  most  prominent  part. 
They  have  stuffed  bears  in  their  museum.  They  adorn  their 
fountains  with  bears.  They  cut  and  paint  bears  on  every- 
thing, and  they  ought  to  adopt  as  their  motto  "  Bear  and  For- 
bear." 

The  bear-worship  is  a  tradition,  the  origin  of  which  is 
lost  in  time  ;  though  some  suppose  it  is  a  symbol  of  gal- 
lantry toward  women,  as  Eve  is  said  to  have  made  her  first 
appearance  in  public  in  a  bare  skin.  She  must  have  been  a 
Bernese. 

One  of  my  amusements  at  Bern  was  to  watch  the  strangers 
who  used  to  drive  or  walk,  full  of  expectation,  to  the  clock  tow- 
er, and  after  witnessing  its  performance,  go  away  deeply  disap- 
pointed. At  three  minutes  before  every  hour  a  wooden  cock 
gives  the  signal  by  clapping  its  wings  and  crowing.  One 
minute  later  a  number,  of  bears  walk  around  a  seated  figure 


A  FAMOUS  CLOCK.  417 

of  Time,  the  cock  crows  again,  and  when  the  clock  strikes 
Time  turns  an  hour-glass,  and  seems  to  count  the  hour  by 
raising  his  sceptre  and  opening  his  mouth.  Simultaneously 
the  hear  on  the  right  bows,  a  grotesque  figure  strikes  the 
hour  with  a  hammer  on  a  bell,  and  the  cock  ends  the  en- 
tertainment by  crowing  a  third  time.  This  may  appear  like 
something,  but  when  you  find  out  that  the  figures  are  small, 
and  reveal  no  special  mechanical  ingenuity,  the  clock  reminds 
you  of  a  child's  toy. 

Bern  has  better  preserved  its  characteristic  features  than 
any  other  Swiss  town.  Most  of  the  houses  of  the  old  quarters 
are  built  on  arcades,  under  which  are  the  foot-ways.  The 
busiest  street  is  nearly  a  mile  long,  and  under  four  different 
names  runs  from  the  Ober  Thor  to  the  Nydeck  bridge.  The 
Cathedral,  in  which  is  a  fine  organ — I  liked  it  as  well  as  that 
of  Freiburg — is  a  handsome  Gothic  structure,  remarkable  for 
its  open-work  balustrade  encircling  the  roof. 

The  great  attraction  of  the  city — its  population  is  some 
30,000 — is  the  view  it  affords  of  the  Alps  and  the  Bernese 
Oberland.  It  is  situated  on  a  peninsula  formed  by  the  Aare, 
and  looking  down  at  the  winding  river,  and  off  to  the  varied 
mountains,  no  one  can  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  pictur- 
esqueness  of  its  position. 

Switzerland  has  variety  enough  to  please  a  Saracen  or  an 
idealist.  Our  own  land,  of  course,  excepted,  probably  no 
country  in  the  world  can  begin  to  equal  it  for  beauty  and  di- 
versity, picturesqueness  and  grandeur  of  scenery.  And  then, 
too,  the  finest  scenery  to  be  found  is  shut  up  in  the  little  re- 
public in  the  most  compact  and  convenient  form  for  visiting. 

Switzerland  was  evidently  designed  for  tourists  who  had 
little  time  and  much  appreciation.  It  must  have  been  in- 
tended for  what  it  has  become — a  show  box  ;  for  Nature  has 
crowded  it  with  panoramic  views  of  the  most  magnificent 
description  which  you  seek  to  advantage  at  certain  points, 
as  children  do  miniature  pictures  through  a  magnifying  glass. 
The  glass  there  is  taste  and  culture,  and  the  views  are  on  so 
large  a  scale  that  no  magnifying  power  is  necessary.     Amer- 


418 


TOURISTS  IN  SWITZERLAND. 


icans  generally  fail  to  do  justice  to  Switzerland.  They  run 
through  it  by  rail  from  Geneva  to  Constance,  and  fancy 
they  have  seen  all  that  is  worth  seeing.  They  should  spend 
several  weeks — three  to  five  will  answer  if  actively  and  in- 
telligently employed — in  visiting  the  different  parts  of  the 
country  before  they  can  form  an  adequate  idea  of  its  sur- 
passing scenery.  Many  of  the  very  best  portions  of  Switzer- 
land can  not  be  seen  without  going  off  the  beaten  track; 
without  taking  diligence  or  private  carriage,  and  often  the 
journey  must  be  made  by  mule  or  foot.  The  Zermatt  and 
Chamonix  valleys  and  the  Bernese  Oberland  can  never  be 
appreciated  unless  one  goes  through  them  as  a  pedestrian. 
Nature,  jealous  of  her  rights,  will  not  reveal  herself  to  those 
too  indolent  to  woo  her  with  enthusiasm.  Like  other  women, 
she  wants  to  be  courted  before  she  gives  the  best  of  herself  to 
her  wooers. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

GRAND    SWISS    SHOOTING   FESTIVAL. 

VISITED  Zug  because  the  annual  national 
shooting  festival  of  Switzerland  was  held  there, 
as  it  usually  is  in  the  month  of  June.  Switzerland 
is  so  quiet,  so  conservative,  so  industrious,  that 
you  would  not  suppose  the  people  could  be  brought 
to  feel  such  a  deep  interest  as  they  do  in  the  burn- 
ing of  gunpowder,  unless  in  defence  of  their  inde- 
pendence. Everybody  from  the  Valais  to  the  Schaffhausen, 
between  Savoy  and  the  Tyrol,  is  concerned  in  the  festival. 
Every  one  of  her  entire  twenty-two  cantons  is  largely  repre- 
sented. Every  heart  in  Helvetia  responds  to  the  crack  of  the 
rifles  that  are  continually  sounding  from  early  dawn  to  dusk. 
I  do  not  know  the  exact  population  of  Switzerland,  but  I 
should  suppose  the  greater  portion  of  it  was  there;  for 
very  long  trains  were  coming  and  going  every  hour  from  and 
to  Basel,  Bern,  Zurich,  and  St.  Gallen. 

You  know  how  overworked  the  Swiss  look,  and  how  over- 
worked they  really  are.  But  there  they  are  changed  in  ap- 
pearance. They  enter  so  fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  sulphur- 
ous merry-making  that  they  seem  younger  and  fresher  by 
years  than  is  their  wont.  The  little  capital  with  its  quaint 
houses,  its  ancient  streets,  its  arches  crowned  with  spires,  is 
decked  like  a  country  bride.  Flags,  streamers,  and  wreaths 
hang  from  every  house,  and  mottoes  and  verses  recording  the 
glory  of  Switzerland,  and  the  courage  and  honor  of  the  Swiss 
are  wrought  in  fir  and  pine  at  every  turning  of  the  street. 
On  such  occasions  the  village  of  less  than  4,000  people  is 


420  PERFECT  EQUALITY. 

greatly  over-crowded.  Not  a  dwelling  in  the  town  but  has 
three  or  four  beds  in  each  room  and  two  or  three  occupants 
in  each  bed.  The  Germans  care  less  than  we  Anglo-Norman- 
Saxon-whatever-we-may-bes  for  social  compactness.  They 
are  more  gregarious  and  less  fastidious  than  ourselves.  They 
dine  from  dishes  that  are,  to  say  the  least,  unique,  and  take 
strange  bed-fellows  without  hesitation.  All  the  Swiss  are 
made  one  by  shooting  and  drinking  together.  Why  should 
they  not  lie  together  like  sardines  in  a  box  ? 

The  grounds,  which  are  adjacent  to  the  railway  and  near 
the  station,  cover  an  area  of  200  acres.  A  rude  wooden 
shooting  gallery  runs  along  one  side  of  the  enclosure,  which 
is  covered  with  booths  and  side-shows  of  every  description. 
There  are  two  or  three  large  buildings,  gaudily  painted  on 
the  outside,  and  surrounded  with  the  national  flag,  a  white 
cross  on  a  field  of  scarlet.  These  are  called  festhalles,  and 
the  long,  plain  pine  tables  and  benches  in  them  are  occupied 
by  those  most  bounteously  blest  with  thirst  and  appetite,  par- 
ticularly thirst. 

I  am  familiar  with  Germans  and  German  life  ;  but  I  never 
visit  a  place  of  this  sort  without  feeling  some  astonishment 
at  the  amount  of  solids  and  liquids  our  good  friends  of 
Fatherland  are  able  to  dispose  of.  They  eat  and  drink  early, 
late,  and  often,  and  with  such  a  relish,  such  an  unctuous  satis- 
faction, that  it  is  enjoyable  even  to  a  surfeited  spectator. 

A  festhalle  will  hold  ten  or  twelve  thousand  persons,  and  is 
all  the  while  comfortably  full  of  men,  women,  and  children. 
It  is  creditable  to  the  German  nation  that  when  they  seek 
recreation,  or  indulge  in  their  mild  dissipation,  they  take 
their  families  with  them.  Their  ease  and  freedom  are  to  be 
admired.  They  are  all  on  the  best  of  terms.  There  seems 
to  be  no  social  distinction.  The  carefully  dressed  citizen  sits 
next  to  the  bloused  peasant,  and  the  cultivated  lady  of  society 
speaks  pleasantly  to  the  bronzed  woman  who  has  just  come 
from  the  labor  of  the  fields.  Young  men  and  old  sit  with 
their  arms  about  the  waists  of  their  feminine  companions, 
who  are  not  unfrequently  seen  asleep,  leaning  their  heads  on 


A  TEMPLE  OF  PHIZES  421 

stalwart  shoulders.  How  delightfully  democratic,  how  charm- 
ingly unconventional  all  this  !  Would  that  we  at  home  could 
be  inspired  with  something  of  the  spirit  that  animates  these 
people  ! 

Babies  are,  of  course,  represented,  and  largely.  The  Ger- 
mans are  nothing,  unless  prolific.  The  round,  red-faced  little 
creatures,  who,  I  am  bound  to  say,  don't  look  a  bit  like 
cherubs,  laugh  and  crow  as  if  they  were  fully  in  sympathy 
with  the  occasion,  though  I  judge  from  their  vociferous  cries 
once  in  a  while  that  they  find  something  in  the  proceedings 
that  does  not  meet  with  their  approbation. 

On  the  whole,  the  festival  appeared  more  of  a  grand  family 
gathering  than  any  we  have  in  this  country,  even  of  the  Ger- 
mans. The  Swiss  work  so  hard,'  and  so  much,  that  when 
they  play,  they  play  with  all  their  might.  They  give  com- 
plete license  to  their  inclinations,  always  mindful  to  keep 
within  bounds,  however,  and  make  the  most  of  every  minute. 
They  talk,  laugh,  smoke,  drink,  sing,  dance,  love,  and  shoot, 
by  turns,  and  seem  as  contented  as  if  they  lived  in  Arcadia, 
instead  of  tarrying  in  Zurich. 

The  Temple  of  Prizes  was  an  object  of  great  interest,  par- 
ticularly to  the  feminine  part  of  the  visitors.  It  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  grounds,  and  included  such  a  variety  of  articles 
that  it  is  impossible  to  remember  them.  There  were  silver 
and  crystal  goblets,  meerschaum  pipes,  coverlets,  rifles, 
household  furniture,  watches,  pictures  (the  portraits  of  Presi- 
dent Lincoln  and  General  Grant  among  the  rest),  any  number 
of  large  and  small  medals,  and  I  know  not  what  else. 

In  addition  to  these,  there  were  many  prizes  in  money, 
amounting  to  seventy  or  eighty  thousand  francs,  which  is 
thought  a  large  sum  in  that  country.  Placards  of  the  prizes 
were  posted  about  the  grounds  very  conspicuously,  and  were 
read  with  interest.  There  were  different  classes,  given  with 
such  elaborate  explanation  and  detail  that  I  had  not  patience 
to  read  them,  particularly  as  my  German  does  not  always  en- 
able me  to  translate  with  as  much  freedom  as  I  should  desire. 

The  shooting  hall  was  merely  a  shed,  from  one  side  of 


422  .EXPERIMENTS  OF  SHOOTING. 

which  the  marksmen  discharge  their  pieces  at  a  bull's  eye — a 
distance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  (long  range),  and 
about  seventy-five  yards  (short  range).  Men  stationed  at 
the  targets,  behind  bullet-proof  casements,  note  the  shots 
as  rapidly  as  made,  pulling  a  cord  connecting  with  the  gal- 
lery which  is  a  sign  that  the  shooting  can  continue.  Of 
course  everybody  shoots — the  prizes  are  open  to  all  who 
will  pay  thirty  centimes  a  shot — even  the  men  who  oc- 
cupy stands  in  the  gallery,  and  load  the  rifles  as  rapidly  as 
they  are  discharged.  One  can  shoot  six  or  twelve  times,  but 
not  less,  or  five  thousand  times,  if  he  is  so  inclined,  and  has 
the  money. 

The  rifles  used  are  very  different  from  those  in  this  coun- 
try. They  are  of  different  kinds,  but  generally  of  the  old 
needle-gun  pattern,  and  very  awkward  and  clumsy.  They 
are  heavy,  and  have  a  large  segmental  piece  near  the  trigger 
for  the  left  (supporting)  hand  to  rest  upon.  The  Swiss  do 
not  hold  the  piece  as  we  do,  directly  and  freely  against  the 
right  shoulder,  but  put  the  right  elbow  upon  the  right  hip, 
and,  so  supporting,  bring  the  gun  up  to  their  eye.  It  is  need- 
less to  say  this  is  not  as  fair  a  test  of  skill  as  our  method ;  but 
the  Swiss  can't  be  induced  to  shoot  in  any  other  way. 

I  tried  a  few  shots,  and  felt  as  I  were  firing  a  Columbiad 
or  Dahlgren  at  a  sparrow.  One  requires  training  in  a  gym- 
nasium to  hold  his  piece,  and  taking  sight  was  almost  impossi- 
ble, where  there  were  so  many  superfluities  on  the  barrel.  The 
piece  was  very  heavily  charged,  and  kicked,  when  it  exploded, 
like  a  vicious  mule.  If  my  shoulder  were  not  strong,  I 
fancy  it  would  have  been  dislocated  by  the  dozen  discharges. 
It  was  black  and  blue  from  the  rebound.  I  don't  think  I  did 
any  very  remarkable  shooting.  I  didn't  expect  to.  I  was 
quite  satisfied  to  get  the  gun  off,  so  cumbersome  was  the 
whole  thing,  and  so  unpromising  its  performance.  I  believe 
I  killed  nobody  (at  least  I  have  not  heard  of  any  death  up  to 
this  time,  which  is  consolatory,  for  I  fancied  my  old  piece 
full  of  manifold  murder.  One  person  was  wounded  during 
the  engagement,  that  was  myself — and  supremely  disgusted 
with  the  Swiss  manner  of  shooting. 


A  LOST  OPP  OR  TUN  IT  Y. 


423 


The  shooting,  which  I  observed  was  not  good,  but  I  suppose 
I  saw  none  of  the  crack  marksmen.  Men  without  much  skill 
might  win  a  prize  by  burning  powder  enough,  for  they  might 
succeed,  by  mere  chance,  in  hitting  the  bull's-eye  once  in  fifty 
or  a  hundred  times.  Certainly  there  was  sufficient  firing  to 
earn  a  treasury  of  prizes.  The  guns  were  going  without 
intermission  from  morning  to  night,  and  a  gallon  of  beer 
was  drunk  for  every  shot. 

I  heard  something  of  the  reception  of  Americans  there,  but 
saw  nothing  of  it.  I  was  the  only  one  of  my  countrymen  on 
the  spot,  so  far  as  I  was  aware,  and  I  am  sure  I  was  not  re- 
ceived. If  Train  had  been  present,  what  a  splendid  opportunity 
he  would  have  had  to  talk  Fourth-of-July  English  to  the  pa- 
triotic Germans.  They  would  have  listened  to  him  with  pa- 
tience, for  they  could  not  have  understood  a  word  he  said. 


CHAPTER     LV. 

ITALY. 

F  I  could  visit  but  one  country  beside  my  own 
that  country  would  be  Italy — above  any  other  the 
land  of  poetry  and  romance.  No  Italian  town  or 
city  of  note  in  which  I  have  not  tarried,  and  the 
longer  I  stayed  the  more  I  admired, — the  more  I 
grew  into  sympathy  with  the  pervading  spirit  of 
antiquity  and  the  mediaeval  time. 
How  well  I  remember  the  evening  I  entered  Italy  by  the 
Mt.  Cenis  route !  It  was  in  Susa  I  first  set  foot,  and  the  dull 
old  town,  unattractive  as  it  is,  borrowed  a  charm  from  the 
fact  that  it  was  Italian.  The  evening  was  beautiful, — soft, 
moonlit,  dreamy,  delicious, — and  the  nightingales  sang  in 
the  groves .  and  thickets  more  sweetly  and  plaintively,  I 
thought,  than  I  had  ever  heard  them  before.  I  could  not 
sleep,  so  rejoiced  was  I  at  having  reached  at  last  the  land 
where  my  mind  had  often  been  before.  I  sat  up  until  the 
dawn  flushed  the  East,  and  when  I  lay  down,  it  was  to  dream 
that  all  my  gorgeous  visions  of  Italy  had  come  to  pass. 

Turin  was  the  first  city  proper  I  formed  acquaintance  with. 
The  capital  of  Piedmont,  though  finely  situated,  handsomely 
built,  and  boasting  a  population  of  nearly  200,000,  has  few 
old  monuments  or  associations. 

Francis  I.  in  the  sixteenth  century  demolished  the  exten- 
sive suburbs,  the  Roman  amphitheatre,  and  other  ancient 
works,  so  that  the  vestiges  of  what  the  city  was  during  the 
Empire  and  the  middle  ages  are  entirely  obliterated. 

Turin  has  been  for  some  years  a  place  of  refuge  for  the  per- 


A  MIRACULOUS  WAFER.  425 

secuted  all  over  the  kingdom,  and  until  lately  fifteen  hundred 
to  two  thousand  persons  were  living  there  who  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  their  homes  on  account  of  their  religious  and 
political  opinions;  those  from  the  Papal  States  having  been 
very  naturally  the  largest  in  number.  The  population  is  cos- 
mopolitan, probably  from  its  proximity  to  France  and  Swit- 
zerland, and  very  liberal  and  tolerant  in  its  views.  There  is 
less  indolence  and  more  intelligence  in  Turin  than  in  any  city 
of  Italy,  Milan,  perhaps,  excepted. 

The  pleasantest  part  of  the  city  is  the  Collina  Hills,  beyond 
the  Po.  They  are  extremely  inviting,  being  covered  with 
the  richest  green,  surrounded  by  churches-  and  dotted  with 
handsome  villas.  Sitting  in  the  gardens  to  the  right  of  the 
Piazza  Emmanuele  under  the  sunshine,  and  looking  over  at 
the  Collina,  peace  and  poetry  seem  to  dwell  there  together. 

There  are  over  sixty  churches  in  the  city,  and  though  many 
of  them  are  elaborately  and  expensively  painted  and  decorated, 
none  are  particularly  interesting. 

La  Gran  Madre  di  Dio  is  in  imitation — very  feeble  imita- 
tion— of  the  Pantheon,  and  cost  $1,000,000,  proving  how 
much  money  may  be  spent  for  a  bad  (architectural)  purpose. 
When  I  went  there  I  found  a  zealous  priest  instructing  a  num- 
ber of  extremely  dirty  little  boys  in  their  catechism.  The 
catechism  is  excellent  no  doubt ;  but  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing the  urchins  might  have  been  spared  a  while  to  go  down 
to  the  Po,  only  a  few  yards  off,  and  wash  themselves.  What 
is  the  use  of  having  a  river  near  so  many  soiled  children,  with- 
out giving  them  some  of  its  benefit  ? 

In  the  Church  del  Corpus  Domini  is  a  marble  inscription, 
from  which  the  profane  are  separated  by  an  iron  railing,  com- 
memorating the  wonderful  recovery  of  a  sacramental  vessel 
containing  the  holy  wafer,  which  a  sacrilegious  soldier  stole, 
and  concealed  in  one  of  the  panniers  of  his  saddle.  The  horse, 
or  ass  (I  think  it  must  have  been  an  ass),  being  of  a  consci- 
entious and  religious  turn  of  mind,  refused  to  pass  the  church 
door  with  the  stolen  property.  He  kicked  and  plunged,  as 
secular  beasts  of  his  species  often  do ;  the  vessel  fell  to  the 


426 


A  MEDUEVAL  VISION. 


earth,  and  the  wafer  girt  with  rays  of  light,  shot  up  into  the 
air  until  the  priests  appeared,  when  it  descended  into  their 
sacerdotal  bosom. 

Skeptical  persons  may  consider  this  an  improbable  story ; 
but  such  things  are  constantly  occurring  in  Italy,  and  the 
smallest  hamlet  in  the  country  has  five  or  six  first-class  mira- 
cles every  year. 

In  the  Royal  Armory  is  a  number  of  very  delicate  triangu- 
lar-bladed  stilettoes,  with  which  the  amiable  ladies  of  the 
middle  ages  used  to  liberate  themselves  from  disagreable  hus- 
bands. The  modus  operandi  is  said  to  have  been  very  simple. 
The  gentle  spouses  put  one  arm  about  their  liege-lord's  neck, 
and  with  the  disengaged  hand  thrust  the  fine  steel  into  his 
left  side,  under  the  fifth  rib.  Signore  Lorenzo  or  Duke  Mat- 
teo  made  a  wry  face  or  two,  but  when  he  discovered  that  the 
act  was  prompted  by  the  love  of  his  idolized  wife  (for  some- 
body else),  he  made  no  trouble,  and  the  next  day  went  to  his 
own  funeral. 

"When  I  looked  at  the  stilettoes  I  fell  to  recollecting  how 
many  a  gentleman  of  the  Negroni,  Pallavicini,  Balbi,  Doria, 
and  Brignole  families  had  been  tickled  to  death  by  their 
persuasive  power. 

I  saw  visions  of  dark-eyed,  night-haired,  passionate  women 
waiting  on  marble  porticoes  and  in  olive  groves,  for  lovers 
they  had  bound  themselves  to  by  the  new  crime  of  murder. 

I  saw  gilded,  frescoed,  mosaic-paved  chambers  where  strong 
men,  famed  in  history,  slept  by  the  side  of  beautiful  demons 
who  bent  over  them  fiercely,  and  whose  voluptuous  arms  de- 
scended in  white  death. 

I  saw  the  brilliant  masquerade,  the  secret  meeting  in  the 
garden,  the  clasping  arms,  the  hungry  kiss,  and  then,  when 
the  revel  was  over,  the  flushed  gallant  stabbed  to  death  in  the 
narrow  street  by  the  hired  bravo. 

I  saw  the  young  wife  with  such  hair  and  eyes  as  Titian 
loved  to  paint,  kneeling  at  her  husband's  feet,  and  protesting 
her  devotion  before  high  Heaven.  I  saw  the  generous  hus- 
band look  into  her  saint-like  face,  and  believe  her  pure  for  her 


LESS  GARLIC  AND  MORE  WASHING.  427 

wondrous  beauty,  assured  so  sweet  a  soul  could  never  sin.  I 
saw  her,  fresh  with  the  pardoning  kiss  upon  her  lips,  give  that 
kiss  to  the  man  to  whom  she  had  yielded  honor  and  all  else. 

And  then  the  stilettoes,  so  fine,  so  bright,  so  cruel,  like 
the  time  they  typified,  flashed  before  my  eyes  until  I  saw  no 
more.  I  returned  to  myself,  and  stood  in  the  Piazzo  del  Cas- 
tello,  with  the  nineteenth  century  around  me,  and  the  whistle 
of  the  locomotive  bound  for  Genoa  in  my  ears. 

Genoa  always  impresses  me  as  very  mediaeval,  and  its  ap- 
pearance from  the  sea,  with  its  crescent  shape,  gradual  ascent 
from  the  shore,  and  the  abrupt  hill  covered  with  villas  rising 
abruptly  behind  the  town,  is  likely  to  be  remembered.  Its 
130,000  people  are  picturesque-looking,  but  not  as  neat  and 
wholesome  as  I  should  like  to  have  them. 

It  is  one  of  the  misfortunes  of  that  really  beautiful  country 
that  its  sons,  and  daughters  too,  alas !  will  insist  on  eating 
garlic,  and  living  in  sublime  independence  of  soap,  water,  and 
immaculate  linen.  Victor  Emanuel  has  done  much  for  the 
people  ;  if  he  could  only  persuade  them  to  eschew  garlic,  wash 
themselves  once  or  twice  a  year  at  least,  and  part  with  some 
of  their  earnings  to  a  laundress,  he  would  do  more,  and  entitle 
himself  to  the  lasting  gratitude  of  Anglo-Saxon  tourists. 

The  Italians  all  the  way  from  the  Po  to  the  Tiber  occupy 
themselves  with  washing  clothes  in  the  classic  rivers,  and 
even  at  the  public  fountains.  What  do  they  do  with  the 
washed  garments  ?  They  certainly  do  not  wear  them  ;  for 
they  wash  more  in  a  day  than  they  wear  in  a  twelvemonth.  I 
have  endeavored  in  vain  to  determine  this  question. 

"When  I  visit  Italy  the  next  time  I  hope  the  people  will  re- 
lieve my  curiosity  by  appearing  in  pure  linen,  and  also  out  of 
regard  for  an  American  who  admires  their  country  exceed- 
ingly, eat  less  garlic,  or  keep  at  a  more  respectful  distance. 
If  cleanliness  be  next  to  godliness,  the  Italians  must  be  the 
greatest  atheists  in  the  world. 

Genoa  is  a  characteristic  Italian  city ;  a  city  of  filth  and 
faded  splendor,  of  wretched  dwellings  and  handsome  gardens, 
of  squalid  people  and  crumbling  palaces,  of  orange  groves  and 


428  GENOA  THE  SUPERB. 

obnoxious  odors.  It  was  known  in  the  mediaeval  times,  with 
which  so  much  of  its  history  is  associated,  as  Genova  la 
Superba ;  but  it  is  difficult  at  present  to  perceive  how  it 
gained  the  high-sounding  title.  You  see  little  that  is  superb 
even  in  the  best  streets — the  Via  Nuova,  Nuovissima,  Balbi, 
and  Carlo  Felice.  Indeed,  those  with  the  Carlo  Alberto,  run- 
ning round  the  harbor,  are  almost  the  only  ones  passable  by 
carriages.  Nearly  all  the  streets,  excepting  the  Piazze,  are 
unwholesome  lanes,  many  not  over  seven  or  eight  feet  wide, 
often  narrower,  where  persons  from  opposite  sides  can  shake 
hands  out  of  the  upper  windows,  and  where  dampness  and 
dirt  destroy  much  of  the  romance  almost  inseparable  from  the 
name  of  Italy. 

The  origin  of  Genoa  is  said  to  be  anterior  to  that  of  Rome, 
and  it  is  easy  to  see  in  the  ancient  city  traces  of  the  prosperity 
it  enjoyed  and  the  splendor  it  possessed  during  the  seven 
centuries  when  it  was  the  capital  of  a  great  commercial 
republic. 

The  hotel  where  1  stayed  was  formerly  the  Palazzo  Serra, 
situated  in  front  of  the  harbor.  One  morning  I  lay  in  bed 
and  watched  the  clouds  and  the  mists  and  the  struggling  sun 
until  I  got  quite  lost  in  a  waking  dream  of  the  fair  land.  On 
the  ceilings  were  the  frescoes  and  on  the  floor  the  fine 
mosaics  that  had  been  put  there  four  centuries  ago,  when  a 
powerful  and  wealthy  family  dwelt  within  the  walls.  I  was 
irresistibly  carried  back  to  the  days  of  the  Doges,  of  the 
Dorias,  the  Brignolis,  Spinolas,  and  Fieschis,  when  they  did 
so  much  in  war,  in  art  and  literature  to  make  Genoa  feared 
and  famed.  I  thought  of  the  fair  women  and  brave  men  who 
had  slept  where  I  lay  ;  of  the  dainty  and  mailed  feet  that  had 
come  up  the  marble  stairs  on  missions  of  mercy,  jealousy, 
crime,  and  love.  I  thought  of  the  strange  and  interesting 
scenes  that  had  occurred  under  those  mediaeval  walls,  and  of 
how  many  charming  romances  might  be  written  by  one  who 
knew  all. 

Much  of  the  old  furniture  belonging  to  the  palace  is  still  in 
use  at  the  hotel — mirror,  bureaus,  chairs,  and  tables — all 
heavily  gilded,  and  each  having  a  story  that  it  cannot  speak. 


REDUCED  NOBLEMEN.  429 

f  < 

A  number  of  the  Dorias  still  reside  there,  but  in  reduced 
circumstances.  One  of  them,  however,  is  very  wealthy,  and 
lives  in  Rome,  renting  his  palace  in  Genoa.  Singular  how 
distinguished  families  run  out.  Andrea  Dora,  a  namesake 
of  him  who  so  nobly  served  the  State,  keeps  a  wine  shop  near 
the  Piazza  delle  Fontane  Amorose,  and  is  reputed  to  be  a 
lineal  descendant  of  the  great  man.  The  family,  however, 
do  not  recognize  him,  and  he  seems  quite  contented  to  earn 
his  bread  by  selling  very  bad  wine  ;  hoping,  it  may  be,  with 
an  Italian  cunning  that  his  proud  kinsmen  may  drink  it  some 
day,  and  so  give  him  his  revenge. 

Giuseppe  Fieschi,  in  the  Via  degli  Orefici,  where  the  fa- 
mous filagree  workers  in  gold  and  silver  have  their  establish- 
ments, is  declared  to  be  of  the  great  Fieschi  family.  His 
grandfather  fell  into  disrepute  somehow,  and  his  father  and 
his  grandson  disgraced  themselves  by  becoming  industrious. 

I  have  been  told  that  one  of  the  eminent  Spinolas  not  long 
ago  was  the  controller  of  the  destinies  of  a  vetturo  (Anglice 
was  a  hackman),  but  having  drank  too  much  one  night,  fell 
off  the  dock  and  was  drowned.  The  trouble  with  him  was  not 
that  he  swallowed  too  much  wine,  but  that  he  took  too  much 
water  with  it. 

The  Italians  are  decidedly  a  reading  people.  They  have  a 
number  of  newspapers  (called  so  because  they  contain  no 
news),  which  they  buy  very  freely,  and  pore  over  earnest- 
ly, possibly  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  why  they  are  printed. 
They  bear  such  names  as  1?  Opinione  Nazionale,  Ecco  £  Italia, 
and  Gazetta  di  Popolo,  showing  a  democratic  tendency,  and 
are  sold  for  one  or  two  cents.  While  I  was  drinking  a  cup  of 
coffee  in  La  Concordia  one  evening,  I  picked  up  a  journal, 
and  found  in  it  Horace  Greeley's  American  Conflict  (Ameri- 
cano Conflitto,  by  Orazzio  Greeley.)  Not  the  whole  of  it,  as 
you  may  imagine,  but  about  a  thousand  words.  The  paper 
had  just  begun  to  publish  the  translation,  and  its  to-be-con- 
tinued was  likely  to  last  for  the  five  years,  at  the  rate  of  space 
it  was  giving  to  the  work. 


430 


TEE  GALLEY  SLAVES. 


Our  idea  of  the  Italians  is  that  they  do  not  read  news- 
papers at  all.  They  have  not  done  so  to  any  extent  until  re- 
cently, and  the  change  is  a  good  sign.  No  doubt  the  people 
are  improving  every  way  under  their  United  Kingdom,  and 
will  yet  surprise  the  world  by  their  progress. 

The  galley  slaves,  as  they  are  still  called,  though  the 
galleys  are  abolished,  are  kept  in  the  Bagne  on  the  dry  dock. 
They  are  employed  in  the  daytime  on  the  public  works  in 
different  parts  of  the  city,  and  dressed  in  red — a  color  to 
which  Genoa  seems  largely  and  very  distastefully  to  incline. 
There  are  six  or  seven  hundred  of  them,  and  they  are,  on  the 
whole,  a  vicious,  desperate-looking  set  of  fellows  as  I  have 
seen,  though  I  have  no  doubt  I  should  look  no  better  than 
they  if  I  were  paraded  through  the  streets  for  years  branded 
as  a  felon.     The  murderers  are  distinguished  by  a  black  band 


GENOESE    WOMEN. 


around  their  caps,  and  I  noticed  the  black  band  was  very 
common.  All  the  convicts  are  pardoned  when  their  sentence 
is  half  served,  if  they  behave  themselves. 


THE  COLUMBUS  MONUMENT. 


431 


The  Genoese  women  have  peculiar,  but  not  very  pleasant 
faces.  The  Ligurians  were  never  famous  for  beauty,  and  I 
hardly  recall  a  single  handsome  feminine  countenance,  though 
I  frequented  the  gardens  and  public  promenades  where  there 
were  many  of  the  sex,  and  of  the  better  classes.  One  custom 
I  liked — the  wearing  of  a  thin  muslin  scarf — what  the 
Americans  call  organdie,  I  think — upon  their  heads  instead 
of  bonnets.  They  pin  the  scarf  to  the  hair,  and  let  it  fall 
gracefully  over  the  head  and  shoulders.  It  is  picturesque, 
and  would  make  any  woman  look  well,  if  looking  well  were 
in  her  power. 

In  the  Palazzo  Doria  Tursi,  in  the  Via  Nuova,  now  occupied 

as  city  offices,  are  preserved 
some  interesting  articles. 
Among  them  are  various 
manuscript  letters  of  Chris- 
topher Columbus  respecting 
his  will ;  Paganini's  violin  ; 
a  piece  of  embroidery  illustra- 
ting the  martyrdom  of  St. 
Lawrence,  said  to  be  nearly 
nineteen  hundred  years  old, 
and  a  bronze  table  con- 
taining the  award  made 
A.  U.  C,  633,  by  Quintus 
Marcus  Minutius  and  Quintus 
Fulvius  Rufus  between  the 
Genuenses,  the  ancient 
Genoese,  and  the  Viturii, 
respecting  a  certain  terri- 
coldmbus  monument.  torial  boundary. 

The  Columbus  Monument,  in  the  Piazza  di  Acqua  Verde,  is 
a  white  marble  pediment,  with  Columbus  and  an  American 
woman  at  the  top,  with  figures  below  representing  Geography, 
Justice,  Law,  and  Religion.  Christopher  was  a  native  of  that 
city,  which  is  one  of  the  reasons  I  had  for  visiting  it.  I 
thought  if  he  were  kind  enough  to  come  all  the  way  over 


432  A  SINGULAR   CHARITY. 

the  ocean  to  discover  America  before  much  dependence 
could  be  placed  in  the  regular  line  of  steamers,  I  ought, 
as  an  American,  to  take  the  trouble  to  see  where  he  was 
born.  We  owe  much  to  Columbus  for  discovering  our 
country.  If  he  had  not  discovered  it,  where  should  we 
have  been  ? 

The  Campo  Santo  (cemetery)  of  Genoa  is  renowned  for 
beauty.  It  is  elaborate  and  imposing,  but  its  monuments 
and  statues,  grottoes  and  urns,  fountains  and  flowers,  are  so 
arranged  as  to  give  the  burial  place  a  stiff  and  artificial  ap- 
pearance. Taste  is  not  a  Geneose  quality.  Some  of  their  most 
prominent  buildings  are  painted  red,  with  a  kind  of  coarse 
fresco  all  over  the  front  that  goes  far  to  destroy  anything  like 
effect. 

The  city  has  fifteen  or  sixteen  religious  establishments  gov- 
erned by  monastic  rules,  in  which  women  are  employed  in 
various  ways,  but  take  no  vows.  In  the  largest  of  these,  the 
Fieschine,  some  three  hundred  women  are  occupied  in  making 
lace,  embroidery,  and  artificial  flowers. 

The  great  Albergo  de'  Poveri  is  what  its  name  implies,  a 
hospital  for  the  poor,  and  is  outside  the  Porta  Carbonara.  It 
was  founded  three  centuries  ago,  is  capable  of  accommodating 
2,500  persons,  and  is  generally  full.  Most  of  the  inmates 
are  old,  but  many  of  them  are  so  young,  healthy,  and  vigorous 
that  it  seems  strange  they  should  be  there.  Why  don't  they  go 
to  work,  instead  of  living  by  charity  ?  That  is  a  strong  ar- 
gument in  our  country,  but  it  is  not  there.  Many  Italians 
regard  life  without  labor  as  a  kind  of  glory,  and  their  country 
being  fertile,  their  climate  mild,  and  little  required  to  support 
the  body — they  support  it  after  the  national  fashion.  Give 
an  ordinary  Italian  a  few  bottles  of  wine,  a  flask  of  oil, 
sufficient  pollenta,  macaroni,  and  the  sunshine,  and  he  will 
not  concern  himself  about  peace  or  war,  the  condition  of  finan- 
ces, or  the  state  of  his  soul.  But  the  people  are  improving  in 
industry,  thrift,  and  intelligence,  and  I  believe  that  the  end 
of  the  century  will  see  them  very  different  from  what  they 
have  been. 


PREMIUM  TO  PAUPERISM. 


433 


The  inmates  of  the  Albergo  do  certain  kinds  of  work,  me- 
chanical branches  mainly,  and  do  it  very  well.  But  they 
might  do  much  more.  The  fact  that  they  know  they  will 
be  taken  care  of  prevents  them  from  having  any  ambition  or 
incentive  to  exertion.  When  the  girls  reach  a  marriageable 
age  they  receive  a  respectable  dowry,  and  the  youths  get  a 
certain  sum  also  if  they  wish  to  be  husbands.  Yery  fre- 
quently, owing  to  this  inducement  to  wedlock,  the  inmates 
marry  each  other,  and  their  children  return  to  the  hospital  to 
live  upon  charity,  as  their  parents  have  done  before  them. 
This  seems  very  like  giving  a  premium  to  pauperism  ;  but  the 
Genoese  do  not  so  consider  it.  The  hospital  does  much 
good  ;  but  it  does  much  harm  also.  The  Italians  need  to  feel 
the  sense  of  individual  responsibility.  They  have  leaned  so 
long  upon  their  priests  and  princes  that  they  have  become 
disqualified  from  taking  care  of  themselves.  They  are  im- 
proving, however,  as  I  have  said,  and  their  future  will  be 
brighter. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


MIDDLE    ITALY. 


T  Pisa  I  went  to  see  the  Cathedral  and  the 
Campo  Santo,  which  many  neglect  altogether. 
The  Cathedral  is  one  of  the  finest  in  Europe, 
WM$'  and  is  free  from  that  damp,  musty,  grave-like 
odor  that  renders  the  atmosphere  of  Continental 
churches  so  unpleasant.  The  pictures  are  very 
good,  some  of  them  excellent,  and  the  music — I 


was  there  on  a,  fete  d&y — was  such  as  I  had  no  reason  to  ex- 
pect in  so  small  a  town  as  Pisa.  The  Campo  Santo,  the 
cemetery  of  the  middle  "ages,  is  really  an  abbey,  and  very  in- 
teresting. Its  frescoes  of  the  Triumph  of  Death,  the  Last 
Judgment,  and  the  Inferno,  are  curious,  even  ludicrous, 
though  they  were  designed  to  be  solemn  even  to  awfulness. 
The  angels  and  priests  dragging  men  out  of  their  graves  by 
the  hair  of  the  head,  and  of  Christ  and  the  Apostles  sitting  in 
the  clouds  like  a  number  of  smoking,  beer-drinking  Teutons, 
is  too  absurd,  even  for  the  admiration  of  the  most  orthodox. 

The  dullest  traveler  can  tell  when  he  is  in  Italy  from  the 
prevalence  of  beggars,  if  from  no  other  cause.  They  greet  you 
the  moment  you  enter  the  country,  and  follow  you  until  you 
quit  it.  I  have  been  besought  at  least  a  hundred  times  an 
hour  to  give  something  to  countless  ragged  creatures  for  the 
love  of  the  Virgin ;  they  naturally  supposing  that  such  an 
appeal  must  move  even  the  most  stubborn  heretic. 

Every  church  in  Italy  has  its  beggars.  They  stand  or 
kneel,  muttering,  moaning,  and  praying  at  the  entrance, 
aw&re  that  all  strangers  visit  the  churches  as  objects  of 
curiosity.     The  people  of  the  country  pay  no  more  attention 


CI1UR  CI1  BEGGARS. 


435 


to  beggars  than  they  do  to  the  rustling  leaves.  The  mendi- 
cants expect  to  get  nothing  from  that  quarter.  They  look  for 
support  from  foreign  sources  entirely,  and  they  know  Ameri- 
cans by  instinct. 


CHURCH   BEGGARS. 


Victor  Emanuel  has  made  a  vigorous  effort  to  suppress 
professional  mendicancy  in  his  dominions  ;  but  he  can't,  of 
course.  He  might  as  well  try  to  prevent  his  countrymen 
from  eating  macaroni.  To  beg  is  as  natural  to  a  certain 
class  of  Italians  as  it  is  for  them  to  live  and  be  lazy. 

In  Italy,  as  in  other  European  countries,  men  kiss  women 
at  least  before  others,  on  the  right  and  left  cheek  invariably. 
The  French,  and  perhaps  the  other  nations,  consider  it 
indelicate  to  kiss  a  woman's  lips,  for  the  reason,  I  suppose, 
that  they  cannot  understand  such  a  kiss  in  its  purity.  Their 
custom  of  getting  two  kisses  for  one  might  at  first  seem  superior 
to  ours,  and  is  numerically.  But  one  kiss  on  the  lips — the  ex- 
perienced declare — is  worth  a  dozen  on  the  cheeks.  Lips 
were  made  to  kiss  and  be  kissed,  and  why  should  their  pur- 
pose be  set  aside  by  a  stupid  conventionality  ?  If  a  woman 
is  worth  kissing  at  all,  she  is  worth  kissing  properly.  If 
you  can't  conscientiously  kiss  her  lips,  don't  kiss  her  at  all. 


43G 


SIGHT-SEEING. 


In  Italy  they  blow  a  horn  before  a  train  is  to  start ;  in  the 
United  States  they  take  one.  In  France  they  use  napkins 
large  enough  for  sheets,  and  drink  brandy  in  their  coffee.  In 
Italy  they  sweeten  their  strawberries  with  rum,  and  spoil 
everything  with  garlic,  and  have  various  other  customs  we 
know  not  at  all. 

All  the  towns  in  Italy  are  not  attractive ;  and,  besides,  oc- 
casionally, one  wearies  so  of  sight-seeing  that  the  most  beauti- 
ful object  loses  its  charm  through  an  unfavorable  or  un- 
sympathetic mood. 


LEANING    TOWER. 


The  leaning  tower  is  the  attraction  in  Pisa.  It  is  strange 
so  many  go  to  see  an  ordinary  column,  two  hundred  feet  high, 
sunk  in  the  mud. 

Piacenza  received  its  name  from  the  ancient  Romans — 


BOLOGNA. 


437 


isatirical  fellows,  they ! — because  there  was  and  is  nothing 
pleasant  in  it. 

Parma  is  of  much  more  ancient  and  mediaeval  renown,  and 
reminds  you  of  a  decayed  brickyard  on  a  dusty  day.  It  was 
destroyed  during  the  wars  of  the  Triumvirate,  and  Julius 
Caesar  and  Augustus  made  the  mistake  of  rebuilding  it.  An 
earthquake  visited  it  in  1832 — one  of  the  few  things  that  can 
visit  it  with  advantage — and  shook  down  some  of  its  houses. 

Nature  generally  under- 
stands what  she  is  about. 
Correggio  has  a  very  fine 
fresco  upon  the  ceiling  of 
the  Duomo — at  least  it 
would  be  very  fine  if  any 
one  could  see  it.  But 
between  the  distance  and 
the  crumbling  ceiling,  it 
is  difficult  to  determine 
whether  it  is  the  Assump- 
tion of  the  Virgin  or  the 
remains  of  a  hen-roost. 
Petrarch — when  he  was 
cracked  about  Laura  di 
Noves,  I  suppose — direct- 
ed if  he  died  in  Parma, 
that  he  should  be  buried 
there.  But  he  took  par- 
ticular pains  to  die  some- 
where else.  Petrarch  wasn't  such  a  fool  as  many  took  him 
for.     He  evidently  knew  where  to  give  up  the  ghost. 

By  the  roadside  throughout  the  country  is  frequently  seen 
a  shrine  representing  some  saint  or  the  Crucifixion,  at  which 
the  natives  kneel  with  the  utmost  reverence. 

Modena  is  much  like  Parma,  only  more  so.  The  most 
favorable  view  of  it  can  be  had  from  the  window  of  an  express 
train  which  does  not  stop  at  that  station.  If  your  eyesight 
is  defective,  all  the  better  for  the  view.  Rogers  says  some- 
thing like, 


WAYSIDE    SHRINE. 


438  AN  INS UL TED  DOG. 

"  If  ever  thou  should'st  come,  by  choice  or  chance, 
To  Modena        *        *        * 
Stop  at  the  palaca  near  the  Reggio  gate." 

But  take  my  advice  and  don't  go. 

Bologna,  though  one  of  the  most  interesting  cities  in  Italy, 
is  often  neglected  by  tourists.  In  going  from  Florence  to 
Venice,  or  vice  versa,  they  pass  it  on  the  railway  without 
giving  a  thought  to  the  old  Etruscan  town,  founded  under 
the  name  of  Felsina,  it  is  said,  nearly  a  thousand  years  before 
Christ. 

Such  ancient  places,  living  mainly  in  the  past,  where 
commerce  is  dead  and  enterprise  unknown,  always  attract 
me  more  than  the  centres  of  trade  and  travel.  I  remember 
Ravenna,  Rimini,  Ferrara,  Mantua,  and  Verona  with  more 
pleasure  than  the  gay  and  bustling  towns  that  have  a  hold 
upon  the  present. 

To  the  unhistoric  and  unclassical  mind  Bologna  is  merely 
associated  with  the  sausage  of  that  name  ;  to  the  cultivated  it 
represents  a  history  of  literature  and  art,  the  school  of  the 
Caracci,  the  triumphs  of  the  University,  the  struggles  of  a 
brave  and  resolute  people  for  independence. 

As  I  make  it  a  point  to  do  everything  in  any  place  I  visit, 
I  deemed  it  necessary  to  eat  Bologna  sausage  in  the  city  of 
its  creation.  I  went  into  the  Trattoria  di  Tre  Re  and  ordered 
the  famous  Bologna.  I  had  succeeded  in  swallowing  some 
of  it  at  home,  and  concluded  I  might  do  so  there.  I  was 
mistaken.  The  sausage  was  so  full  of  garlic,  so  greasy  and 
so  strong  that  I  was  unable  to  master  it. 

I  am  sure  it  was  genuine,  it  was  so  very  bad. 

I  tried  to  give  it  to  a  dog  that  came  wistfully  to  the  table, 
but  he  snuffed  it,  ran  away  and  howled  most  dolorously. 
When  a  hungry  Italian  dog  won't  eat  anything,  it  can't  be 
very  good  for  a  human  creature.  My  conscience  troubled  me 
for  my  treatment  of  the  poor  brute.  I  intended  to  do  him  a 
kindness,  and  I  am  sure  he  labors  to  this  day  under  the  con- 
viction that  I  designed  to  poison  him.  When  you  go  to  Bo- 
logna don't  try  to  eat  its  sausage,  even  if  the  natives  seek  to 
disguise  it  under  the  euphonious  name  of  mortadella. 


ANTIQUE  APPEARANCE   OF  THE  CITY.  439 

Beckford,  author  of  "  Vathek,"  called  Bologna  the  city  of 
sausages  and  puppies.  The  latter,  a  peculiar  breed,  have  al- 
most entirely  disappeared,  and,  I  opine,  their  disappearance 
is  traceable  to  the  sausages.  Indeed,  I  see  in  them  cause  and 
effect. 

The  city  is  remarkable  for  its  arcades  (reminding  you  of 
Padua  and  Modena,  in  this  respect),  which,  running  under 
nearly  all  the  houses,  furnish  protection  from  the  sun  and 
rain.  You  can  walk  for  miles  without  seeing  the  sky,  and 
consequently  the  umbrella  and  parasol  business  does  not 
flourish  there.  The  antique  appearance  of  Bologna,  with  its 
picturesque  mediaeval  architecture,  its  crumbling  palaces  and 
quaint  churches,  is  very  interesting,  and  carries  you  back  five 
or  six  centuries,  when  the  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines  fought  so 
desperately,  and  the  Viscontis  and  Bentivoglios  held  such 
tyrannic  sway. 

The  Piazza  Maggiore,  or  Yittorio  Emmanuele — formerly 
the  Forum,  is  a  very  attractive  square.  On  one  side  is  the 
Palazzo  Pubblico,  six  hundred  years  old  ;  on  another,  the 
Palazzo  del  Podesta,  an  historic  building  of  the  twelfth 
century  ;  on  the  third,  St.  Petronio,  a  very  large  and  unique 
church  that  has  never  been  finished  ;  and  on  the  fourth,  the 
peculiar  Portico  de'  Banchi.  The  square  has  several 
statues  and  fountains  of  curious  workmanship,  and  is  well 
deserving  of  attention.  I  went  into  it  early  one  morning, 
while  the  market  was  in  progress,  and  as  I  observed  the 
peasants  from  the  country  in  their  varied  and  picturesque 
costumes,  talking,  laughing,  and  selling  their  fruits  and  veg- 
etables, I  found  it  difficult  to  believe  I  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  and  a  stranger  from  beyond  the  seas. 

I  expected  to  see  Filippo  Ugoni  or  King  Enzio  appear  in 
the  Piazza  with  their  armed  hosts,  and  renew  the  contest  that 
lasted  for  so  many  years,  and  cost  so  many  precious  lives.  I 
was  brought  back  to  the  present  by  the  effort  of  a  small  boy 
to  sell  me  a  Bologna  newspaper,  and  by  the  zeal  of  a  vettu- 
rino,  who  was  resolved  to  drive  me  to  the  Campo  Santo. 

The  modern  part  of  Bologna  is  very  well  built,  and  some 


440  LEANING  TOWERS. 

new  houses,  an  unusual  thing  there,  have  been  erected. 
The  surrounding  country  is  very  fertile,  producing  so  liber- 
ally that  the  city  has  received  the  name  of  La  Grassa.  Its 
present  population  is  only  about  75,000 ;  but  within  a  few 
years  it  has  given  signs  of  a  new  life.  It  is  very  different, 
however,  from  what  it  has  been.  Dante  thought  the  Bologn- 
ese  dialect  the  purest  of  Italy,  and  now  it  is  so  full  of  harsh- 
ness an&  barbarism  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  understand 
it. 

The  Leaning  Towers  are  the  greatest  curiosities  of  the 
city,  though  they  have  no  architecture  to  recommend  them. 
One  of  them,  the  Garisenda,  is  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet 
high,  and  eight  feet  out  of  the  perpendicular ;  the  other,  the 
Asinelli,  two  hundred  and  fifty-six  feet  high,  and  four  and  a 
half  feet  out  of  the  perpendicular.  They  are  seven  and  a 
half  centuries  old,  and  look  as  if  they  might  have  stood  in 
the  time  of  the  flood.  The  Asinelli  commands  a  fine  view 
of  the  country,  and  as  climbing  is  one  of  my  recreations,  I 
went  up  it,  and  spent  a  few  hours  in  looking  over  the  town, 
at  the  fertile  plain  of  the  Romagna,  the  Veronese,  and  Eugan- 
ean  hills,  and  the  far-off  white  peaks  of  the  Tyrolese  and 
Carinthian  Alps. 

The  old  cobbler  who  was  there  fifteen  years  ago  still  acts 
as  custodian,  and  seems  as  delighted  when  you  give  him  a 
franc  as  if  he  had  received  a  dukedom.  I  feel  interested  in 
the  old  fellow,  for  he  says  he  is  always  happy.  He  has  neither 
wife  nor  children,  and  never  owned  ten  dollars  at  any  one  time. 
He  has  perfect  health ;  works  every  day  at  his  trade ;  sleeps 
at  the  base  of  the  column ;  drinks  his  bottle  of  cheap  wine, 
and  has  his  pipe  every  evening  on  the  piazza.  He  is  a  prac- 
tical philosopher,  for  he  wants  nothing  he  has  not,  and  is  con- 
tented with  what  he  has.  It  is  common  to  say  no  man  would 
exchange  situations  with  any  other.  I  have  often  wished  I 
was  the  cobbler  of  Bologna. 

The  University,  once  so  famous,  and  more  than  seven  cen- 
turies old,  has  now  gone  into  obscurity.  It  had  ten  thousand 
students  in  the  twelfth  century,  and  the  fame  of  its  professors 


THE  VNIVERS1TY.  441 

was  world-wide.  It  was  the  first  school  in  which  dissection 
of  the  human  body  was  practiced,  and  in  it  Galvanism  was  dis- 
covered. I  had  heard  so  much  of  the  University  that  I  paid 
a  visit  to  it.  It  has  been  in  the  former  Palazzo  Cellesi  for 
the  last  sixty  years,  and  its  recitation  rooms  are  inferior  to 
those  of  our  common  schools.  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  very 
ordinary  benches  and  desks  of  unpainted  wood  cut  and  hacked 
as  in  village  school-houses. 

I  thought  of  the  time  when  Novella  d'  Andrea,  daughter 
of  the  canonist,  filled  her  father's  chair,  and  lectured  on  jur- 
isprudence, behind  a  curtain,  lest  her  wondrous  beauty  should 
distract  the  students.  Then  of  Laura  Bassi,  Professor  of 
Mathematics  and  Physic,  to  whose  lectures  many  learned 
women  of  France  and  Germany  went  for  instruction ;  of  Ma- 
donna Manzolina,  deeply  skilled  in  anatomy,  and  of  Matilda 
Tambroni,  the  rare  Greek  scholar. 

The  library,  though  it  contains  only  a  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand  volumes,  is  well  selected,  many  of  the  books  having 
been  chozen  by  Mezzofante,  who,  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
spoke  forty-two  tongues.  Byron,  you  remember,  said  of  the 
ecclesiastical  librarian  :  "I  tried  him  in  all  the  languages  of 
which  I  knew  only  an  oath  or  an  adjuration  of  the  gods  against 
postilions,  savages,  pirates,  boatmen,  sailors,  pilots,  gondo- 
liers, muleteers,  camel-drivers,  vetturini,  postmasters,  horses 
and  houses,  and  by  Heaven  he  puzzled  me  in  my  own  idiom." 

At  present  the  University  is  little  more  than  a  medical 
school,  and  is  hardly  known  outside  of  Italy.  In  its  palmy 
days  it  was  second  to  none  in  reputation  and  popularity. 

In  the  Palazzo  del  Podesta  I  have  seen  the  room  in  which 
King  Enzios,  the  son  of  Frederick  the  Second,  was  kept  a 
prisoner  for  two-and-twenty  years.  He  was  captured  in  bat- 
tle, and  no  effort  of  his  father  could  obtain  his  release.  The 
poor  fellow  died  in  confinement.  He  was  handsomely  enter- 
tained, but  never  allowed  to  go  beyond  his  prison.  Few  per- 
sons were  permitted  to  see  him,  and  they  usually  in  the  pres- 
ence of  others.  Lucia  Vendagoli,  a  beautiful  and  distinguished 
woman  of  the  time,  felt  deep  sympathy  with  the  poor  youth ; 


442  A  CA DEMY  OF  FINE  AR  TS. 

continued  to  see  him  often — too  often,  perhaps — and  fell  in 
love  with  him  eventually.  The  child  born  to  them  was  the 
founder  of  the  Bentivoglio  family,  who  afterward  gave  the 
Popes  so  much  trouble. 

The  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  has  an  excellent  collection  of 
pictures.  I  do  not  refer  to  the  modern  paintings,  but  to  those 
of  the  Bolognese  school,  of  which  Ludovico  Caracci  and  his 
cousins,  Annibale  and  Agostino,  were  the  leaders.  Guido 
Reni,  Domenichino,  and  Guercino,  were  among  its  most  emi- 
nent representatives. 

The  Academy  has  several  hundred  pictures,  those  of  the 
Caracci  being  more  numerous  than  in  any  other  city. 

Raffaelle's  Saint  Cecilia  in  Ecstasy  is  one  of  his  mo§t  fa- 
mous works.  It  shows  Cecilia  in  a  trance  of  delight  hearing 
the  music  of  the  celestial  choir.  She  has  dropped  her  lyre, 
and  is  gazing  upward  while  surrounded  by  Paul,  John  the 
Evangelist,  Augustin,  and  Mary  Magdalen.  The  coloring  is 
very  fine,  having  great  richness  and  depth,  and  the  drawing 
and  expression  of  the  figures  are  remarkable. 

Guido  Reni's  famous  Crucifixion  is  there,  but  is  not  equal 
to  its  reputation.  His  Madonna  della  Pieta — the  Virgin 
weeping  over  the  body  of  Christ  above,  and  saints  Petronius, 
Carlo  Borromeo,  Dominick,  Francis  and  Proculus  being  below 
— is  a  fine  specimen  of  art ;  the  face  of  St.  Francis  bearing  a 
striking  resemblance  to  the  late  President  Lincoln.  Guerci- 
no's  William,  Duke  of  Aquitaine,  receiving  the  religious  habit 
from  Saint  Felix,  and  St.  Bruno,  praying  in  the  desert,  are 
among  the  artist's  best  productions.  Both  were  carried  to 
Paris  by  Napoleon  and  remained  for  some  years. 

The  best  picture  in  the  gallery,  to  my  mind,  is  Domenichi- 
no's  Death  of  St.  Peter,  Martyr.  The  naturalness  of  the  figure 
is  striking.  The  terror  of  the  priest  lying  on  the  ground  is 
exquisitely  depicted,  and  the  Saint  seems  endowed  with  life. 
I  observed  it  with  a  glass,  and  the  detail  and  finish  of  the 
work  are  wonderful. 

In  the  Cathedral  is  the  Annunciation,  the  best  work  of  Ludo- 
vico Caracci,  which  it  is  said  caused  his  death.     It  is  on  the 


AN  ARTIST  GRIEVED  TO  DEATH.  443 

arch  above  the  high  altar,  and  when  he  had  completed  it,  and 
the  scaffold  had  been  removed,  he  grieved  that  the  foot  of  the 
angel  before  the  Virgin  was  a  trifle  crooked.  He  offered  to 
put  up  a  new  scaffold  that  he  might  retouch  the  painting,  but 
his  urgent  request  was  refused,  and  the  old  man  died  of  mor- 
tification and  grief  a  few  days  after. 

A  portion  of  the  house  is  shown  here  in  which  Imelda  Lam- 
bcrtazzi  lived  and  died.  She  was  the  mistress  of  Bonifazio 
Gieremei,  and  oelonged  to  a  family  of  the  Ghibelline  faction, 
while  her  lover  was  of  the  Guelphs.  The  bitter  hatred  of  the 
rival  families  had  been  kept  in  check  by  the  authorities  until 
Bonifazio,  having  made  a  clandestine  appointment  with  Imel- 
da, as  had  become  his  habit,  they  met,  blinded  by  passion, 
under  her  father's  roof.  He  went  to  her  apartments,  and  his 
presence  was  discovered  by  a  spy  who  at  once  informed  the 
lady's  brothers,  feasting  and  carousing  in  a  palace  near  by. 

Flushed  with  wine  and  burning  to  revenge  themselves  against 
the  audacious  youth  for  the  stain  upon  their  sister's  honor 
and  their  family  escutcheon,  they  hastened  to  the  place  of 
rendezvous.  The  lovers  heard  them  coming,  and  Bonifazio 
besought  Imelda  to  fly.  She  had  hardly  concealed  herself 
when  her  half  frantic  relatives  dashed  into  the  chamber,  and 
dispatched  Gieremei  with  poisoned  daggers.  Alarmed  at 
their  rash  deed,  they  sought  to  conceal  the  body,  dragging  it 
into  an  adjacent  court-yard,  throwing  it  into  a  drain,  and  cov- 
ering it  with  rubbish. 

Imelda,  from  her  hiding  place,  listened  with  her  soul  in  her 
ear ;  but  hearing  no  struggle,  no  cry,  fondly  fancied  her  lover 
might  have  escaped.  She  returned  to  the  apartment.  Boni- 
fazio was  not  there ;  but  the  floor  was  covered  with  blood,  and 
by  the  crimson  drops  she  traced  her  way  to  the  corpse.  It 
was  still  warm.  She  knew  he  had  been  stabbed  with  poisoned 
daggers  because  her  brothers  carried  such  weapons.  She 
hoped  to  preserve  him.  She  attempted  to  suck  the  poison 
from  Bonifazio's  wounds,  hoping  to  save  his  life  as  Queen 
Eleanor  saved  her  royal  spouse.  It  was  too  late ;  but  the 
venom  his  mistress  had  taken  into  her  mouth  communicated 


444  A  LOVE  TRA GED Y. 

itself  to  her  blood,  and  she  expired  in  blissful  agony  on  her 
lover's  breast. 

This  tragedy  intensified  the  wrath  of  the  hostile  families 
who  determined  to  be  revenged  on  each  other ;  gave  rise  to  a 
fierce  fight  in  the  street,  and  a  series  of  contests  that  kept 
the  city  in  turmoil  for  many  years. 

Some  persons  have  erroneously  supposed  the  story  of  Romeo 
and  Juliet  taken  from  this  painful  incident,  and  that  the  tale 
of  the  Capulets  and  Montagues  is  merely  fiction.  It  is  high 
time  the  unhappy  lovers  of  Bologna  were  rescued  from  the 
oblivion  into  which  they  have  sunk,  and  that  they  received 
their  meed  of  sentimental  fame. 

We  have  so  few  lovers  who  have  fairly  and  romantically 
died  for  each  other  that  we  can't  afford  to  let  even  a  single 
pair  c  f  them  slip.  Sentimental  young  persons  who  have  ex- 
hausted Abelard,  Heloise,  Tasso,  Leonora,  Camoeus,  and  Cata- 
rina,  must  remember  Imelda  and  Bonifazio.  They  were  no 
shams  and  make-believes.  They  loved,  indeed,  with  a  love 
as  strong  as  death. 


CHAPTER    LVII. 


LIFE    AND    TRAVEL    IN    ITALY. 


ERTAIN  parts  of  Italy,  such  as  the  Valley  of  the 
Riviera,  the  Plains  of  Lombardy,  and  the  region 
between  Rome  and  Florence  are  delightful.  They 
are  crowded  with  landscapes,  and  almost  surfeit 
you  with  beauty.  You  want  to  stay  amid  the  charm- 
ing scenes  forever,  and  dream  your  life  away. 
Americans  and  the  English  suffer  more  from  cold 
in  Italy  in  winter  than  they  would  at  home,  for  there  are  no 
means  of  keeping  warm.  A  pannier  of  wood,  as  it  is  called,  is 
nothing  more  than  a  bundle  of  vine  twigs,  that  smoke  much 
and  burn  little.  The  bleak,  penetrating  wind  sweeps  down 
from  the  Alps  and  the  Apennines  even  as  far  south  as  Naples, 
and  kills  invalids  picturesquely.  When  people  with  consump- 
tion go  to  Italy  they  should  make  their  wills  first.  If,  how- 
ever, they  have  any  will  of  their  own,  they  would  better  remain 
at  home.  They  can  then  benefit  their  physician  by  making 
his  bill  larger,  and  spite  their  relatives,  if  they  have  any  pro- 
perty, by  living  much  longer  than  wealthy  people  have  any 
right  to. 

All  that  is  said  about  the  delicious  atmosphere,  and  cloud- 
less sky,  and  bracing  breezes  of  Italy,  applies  almost  equally 
well  to  other  countries  in  the  same  latitude.  Pleasant  weather 
is  like  pleasant  weather  anywhere  else,  and  disagreeable 
weather  fully  as  disagreeable.  The  repeated  declarations  that 
in  the  air  of  Italy  you  feel  it  a  joy  merely  to  live,  is  mad  rub- 
bish. It  is  not  a  joy  to  live  anywhere,  unless  you  are  fortun- 
ate in  temperament,  circumstance,  and  destiny. 


446  BETTER  THAN  REPRESENTED. 

The  time  I  have  spent  in  Italy  has  proved  to  me  that  the 
Italians  are  much  misrepresented.  We  are  told  by  the  tourist 
and  general  letter-writer  that  their  life  is  a  continued  swindle  ; 
that  you  are  cheated  at  every  turn ;  that  unless  you  are  ever 
on  the  alert  you  will  be  hourly  robbed.  The  Italians  have 
their  faults.  They  are  like  children.  They  tell  falsehoods 
and  will  defraud  you  in  little  ways.  It  belongs  to  their  tem- 
perament, and  is  an  inherited  habit.  But  they  are  for  the 
most  part  polite  and  kind,  trustful  and  loyal.  Vetturini, 
landlords,  guides,  servants  of  all  sorts,  are  courteous,  patient, 
and  accommodating,  and  when  you  show  them  the  smallest 
civility,  they  appreciate  and  remember  it. 

I  have  seldom  found  a  vetturino  who  demanded  his  buona 
mano  ;  but  when  it  was  given  him  he  so  received  it  as  to  make 
the  giving  a  pleasure. 

As  to  the  stories  of  dishonest  hotel-keepers,  all  I  can  say  is 
I  have  not  found  them  true.  If  you  stay  with  the  landlords  only 
half  a  day,  they  make  out  your  bill  and  put  clown  each  item  in 
it ;  so  if  there  be  anything  wrong  you  can  detect  it  at  once.  I 
have  been  in  all  the  principal  cities  and  towns,  and  I  do  not 
remember  a  single  instance  in  which  the  bill  rendered  con- 
tained anything  I  had  not  had.  At  the  cafes  and  restaurants 
every  article  you  order  is  specified  and  the  price  set  opposite, 
even  if  your  breakfast  or  dinner  amount  to  no  more  than  fifty 
soldi  (fifty  cents). 

In  your  room  everything  is  safe.  I  had  no  hesitation  in 
leaving  my  watch,  jewelry,  and  money  on  the  bureau  or 
table,  and  going  out  for  the  day.  It  may  not  have  been  pru- 
dent ;  but  such  a  thing  as  a  robbery  at  a  hotel  is  almost  un- 
heard of  on  the  continent.  I  never  thought  of  locking  the 
door  of  my  chamber  if  I  made  an  excursion  out  of  town,  and 
not  a  pin  nor  a  scrap  of  paper  was  ever  removed  from  its 
place. 

I  have  left  canes,  umbrellas,  books,  lorgnettes  at  the  the- 
atres, in  the  cars  and  in  shops.  When  I  went  for  them, 
though  a  day  or  two  after,  they  were  always  waiting  for  me, 
.and  it  seemed  a  sincere  pleasure  to  the  finders  to  restore  them. 


ABOUT  WINE.  447 

If  this  be  dishonesty  or  swindling  I  enjoy  it,  and  I  should 
like  to  see  more  of  it  on  this  side  of  the  ocean. 

Then  everybody  is  polite  on  the  continent ;  and  politeness, 
to  my  mind,  is  the  first  of  social  virtues.  All  that  we  ask 
of  ninety-nine  hundredths  of  the  men  we  meet  is  politeness  ; 
for  they  stand  related  to  us  only  through  manners. 

I  feel  no  concern  about  the  financial  trustworthiness  of  Mr. 
Jones,  or  the  private  morals  of  Mr.  Wiggins,  when  I  ride  down 
town  with  him  in  the  morning,  or  take  luncheon  opposite  him 
in  the  afternoon.  But  if  Mr.  Jones  thrusts  his  elbow  into  me, 
or  brushes  his  boots  against  my  trowsers  ;  if  Mr.  Wiggins 
puts  his  knife  into  the  butter,  or  eats  with  an  emphasis,  that 
is  quite  another  matter.  I  should  much  prefer,  as  far  as  I 
am  personally  affected,  that  either  gentleman  might  swindle 
his  creditors,  or  be  in  love  with  another  man's  wife.  Indeed, 
I  should  rather  dine  with  a  well-bred  assassin  than  an  ill- 
mannered  saint ;  and  I  think  most  of  us  would. 

It  is  said  that  the  farther  we  go  East  the  oetter  manners 
we  find,  and  that  the  less  political  freedom  men  have  the 
more  courteous  they  are.  This  may  or  may  not  be  so  ;  but 
if  it  be  true,  I  should  be  glad  to  see  some  of  our  countrymen 
reduced  to  bondage.  Liberty  is  excellent ;  but  if  some  of  it 
be  not  used  for  courtesy,  it  might  as  well  be  withheld.  No 
one  has  the  right  to  be  free  who  fails  to  recognize  the  duties 
— and  politeness  is  the  first — which  freedom  imposes  on  him. 

Here  we  are  constantly  told  that  Europe  is  the  best  place 
for  good  wine  ;  that  it  is  as  cheap  as  water  ;  that  we  shall 
never  know  what  good  wine  is  until  we  go  abroad.  A  vast 
deal  of  cheap  wine  is  to  be  had  there,  but  you  find  it  very 
dear  after  you  have  drank  it.  The  vin  ordinaire  of  France  is 
pure  and  palatable,  and  costs  next  to  nothing,  but  it  is  too 
thin  to  be  satisfactory.  The  wine  that  deserves  the  name  is 
eight  to  ten  francs  a  bottle.  The  vino  nostrale  of  Italy  is  only 
poor  vinegar  deteriorated.  I  swallowed  it  for  a  few  weeks 
because  the  water  was  not  pleasant,  but  afterwards  I  chose 
lemonade,  which  is  rich  cordial  in  comparison.  I  have  tried 
all  kinds  of  Italian  wine,  Asti,  Prascati,  Tuscany,  Falernian, 


448  POLITENESS  OF  OFFICIALS. 

and  LacrymaB  Christi,  and  the  last  two,  the  best  quality,  to 
be  had  in  Naples  alone,  are  the  only  palatable  wines  I  have 
found.  They  were  not  much  to  boast  of,  though  the  Lacrymas 
has  a  wide  reputation,  and  Horace  has  extolled  the  Falernian 
to  the  stars. 

I  have  been  audacious  enough  to  order  Sherry,  Port,  Ma- 
laga, and  Champagne,  and  all  of  them  were  the  worst  that 
ever  passed  my  lips.  They  were  chemicalized,  of  course, 
and  more  obnoxious  than  they  are  at  cheap  bar-rooms  in  New 
York.  The  fact  is,  they  adulterate  wine  on  the  continent  as 
they  do  in  the  United  States,  whenever  they  find  it  profitable. 
The  wine  of  the  country,  though  highly  watered,  is  pure  be- 
cause it  is  cheaper  than  any  decoction  they  can  put  into  it. 

Cheap  wine  everywhere  is  poor  wine.  If  you  want  good 
wine  you  must  pay  for  it,  and  then  you  are  frequently  de- 
ceived. 

The  contrast  between  traveling  in  the  Old  and  New  "World 
is  most  striking.  All  railway  officials  abroad  are  as  uniformly 
courteous  and  accommodating  as  ours  are  rude  and  dis- 
obliging. Every  question  is  civilly  answered,  every  attention 
shown.  The  persons  who  ride  with  you  a  few  miles  lift  their 
hat  when  they  enter  the  car,  and,  when  they  leave  it  say, 
"  Bon  voyage,  monsieur,"  or  "  Buon  giorno,  signore,"  though 
you  have  not  spoken  a  syllable  to  them,  and  they  never  ex- 
pect to  meet  you  again. 

But  that  is  insincere  ;  they  don't  mean  anything  by  it, 
some  one  insists. 

Perhaps  they  don't ;  and  yet  it  is  of  such  little  nothings  the 
agreeableness  of  life  is  made  up. 

What  a  marked  contrast  is  all  this  to  our  own  land !  How 
different  from  the  insolent  hotel  clerks,  the  insufferable  hack- 
men,  the  disagreeable  servants,  the  trickery  and  fraud  prac- 
tised upon  travelers  in  various  ways  !  I  have  heard  tourists 
long  to  get  again  into  the  English-speaking  counties  after 
being  a  few  months  on  the  continent.  I  don't  feel  as  they 
do.  I  am  more  at  home  where  the  most  ignorant  people  know 
enough  to  be  polite.     Travel  is  a  positive  pleasure  on  the 


FEEING  SERVANTS.  449 

continent,  and  I  shrank  from  the  idea  of  returning  to  the 
vast  cars,  the  bellowing  conductors,  the  slamming  doors,  the 
disagreeable  crowd,  the  roaring  hackmen,  and  the  insolent 
underlings  who  make  travel  in  America  a  trial  and  a  tor- 
ment. It  may  all  be  well  with  this  country  in  a  century  or 
two  ;  but  a  lew  more  generations  must  look  with  leniency  on 
the  giant.  He  has>  been  so  occupied  in  growing  that  he 
has  not  had  time  to  polish  his  periods  or  perfect  his  manners. 

The  Italians  have  the  reputation  of  being  indolent ;  but 
those  at  the  hotels  are  very  active  at  the  time  you  arrive. 
No  matter  how  little  baggage  you  have,  they  divide  it  into  a 
half  dozen  little  pieces,  and  each  carries  something.  I  used 
to  carry  a  silk  traveling  cap,  and  one  day,  at  Modena,  a 
stout  fellow  took  it  out  of  my  hand,  and  putting  it  on  his 
shoulder,  as  if  it  had  been  a  trunk,  bore  it  up  stairs.  He 
could  not  have  shown  more  satisfaction  if  he  had  performed 
one  of  the  labors  of  Hercules,  and  at  the  door  of  my  room 
he  paused  and  wiped  his  brow  in  the  most  exhausted  manner. 
As  the  cap  did  not  weigh  more  than  four  ounces,  and  he 
weighed  fully  two  hundred  pounds,  I  did  not  waste  much 
sympathy  upon  him. 

The  object  of  the  porters  and  waiters  in  seizing  your  bag- 
gage in  this  style  is  to  claim  a  fee.  The  Italian  hotels  in 
general  have  now  adopted  the  English  rule  of  putting  service 
in  the  bill,  whether  any  be  rendered  or  not ;  but  the  under- 
lings expect  a  douceur  all  the  same.  They  don't  ask  for  it 
usually  by  word  of  mouth,  but  they  do  with  their  faces,  man- 
ners, and  gestures,  quite  as  plainly  as  if  they  spoke. 

At  Lucca  one  of  the  carriers  told  me  when  he  brought  me 
the  bill  that  I  might  give  him  something  if  I  wished  to.  I 
told  him  the  service  had  been  charged.  He  said  that  was 
for  the  chamber,  not  for  the  table.  I  informed  him  I  wanted 
all  the  service  included  in  the  account.  Then  he  confessed 
that  it  was  all  there  ;  but  what  I  gave  nim  would  be  a  kind- 
ness, and  looked  so  pleading  I  handed  him  a  franc. 

A  few  minutes  after,  another  fellow  appeared  with  a  similar 
petition.     I  handed  him  a  franc  also,  and  he  disappeared  to 


450  CITY  OF  FORLI. 

give  place  to  another  I  had  never  seen  at  all.  I  then  refused. 
The  fellows  who  had  been  paid  had  gone  out  of  sight,  and  if 
I  had  continued  to  bestow  francs,  no  doubt  I  should  have 
found  twenty  of  the  beggars  who  had  done  some  special  ser- 
vice for  me. 

At  Spezia  I  tried  the  gratuity  for  an  experiment.  It  was 
not  a  success,  and  I  did  not  repeat  it  under  similar  circum- 
stances. The  Italian  servants  are  never  satisfied.  Give  them 
a  franc,  and  they  want  five  francs  ;  give  them  five,  and  they 
think  they  should  have  a  Napoleon.  And  yet  of  all  ser- 
vants they  seem  to  me,  the  French  perhaps  excepted,  the  least 
disagreeable  and  annoying. 

The  ancient  and  romantic  little  city  of  Forli,  which  lies  at 
the  foot  of  the  Apennines,  about  forty  miles  from  Bologna,  is 
rather  off  the  beaten  road  of  travel,  and  has  as  much  of 
the  mediaeval  flavor  as  any  Italian  town  I  recall.  Its 
population  is  not  above  sixteen  or  seventeen  thousand ; 
but  it  is  full  of  associations,  and  impressed  me  more  than 
Ferrara  or  Faenza,  Mantua  or  Rimini,  with  all  their  mouldy 
memories  of  the  past.  It  has  its  theatre  and  opera,  as  may 
be  supposed,  though  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  is  of  a 
very  high  order.  Still,  I  liked  to  go  there,  and  to  make  up 
what  the  music  lacked  by  pondering  on  what  it  suggests  in 
regard  to  the  historic  past. 

I  was  sitting  one  night  in  the  pit,  when  a  gentleman  at  my 
side  entered  into  conversation  with  me,  and  I  discovered  that 
he  was  an  American,  the  first  I  had  met  there.  At  the  close 
of  the  performance  we  began  to  criticise  it,  when  he  remarked 
that  he  had  witnessed  a  most  extraordinary  entertainment 
on  that  very  stage,  which  had  taken  him  altogether  by  sur- 
prise. 

"  Indeed,"  he  continued,  "  I  shall  not  forget  it  if  I  live 
a  hundred  years.     Its  impression  will  never  be  removed." 

"  That  is  very  singular,"  I  said.  "  I  can't  imagine  how 
any  very  remarkable  performance  can  be  given  in  so  small  a 
city  as  this.  The  music  must  always  be  inferior  where  the 
patronage  is  so  slight.     Be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  what 


AN  AD  VEN  TURE.  451 

there  was  extraordinary  in  the  representation  of  which  you 
speak." 

"  Well,  here  we  are  at  the  Albergo.  Let  us  go  in  and 
order  a  bottle  of  Lachrymae  Christi,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it. 

"  It  was  late  in  the  autumn,  seven  or  eight  years  ago.  I 
was  on  my  way  from  Bologna  to  Rimini,  and  concluded  to 
stay  here  overnight,  as  I  had  never  seen  Forli  before.  In  the 
evening,  as  I  was  wandering  around,  I  passed  the  theatre, 
and,  observing  that  Bellini's  '  Capuletti  e  Montecchi '  was  to 
be  given,  I  went  in.  It  was  a  little  after  the  hour ;  but  I 
found  the  opera  not  yet  begun.  Though  the  house  was 
tolerably  full,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  a  seat.  I  waited 
patiently  for  fifteen  minutes,  and  still  no  signs  that  any  of  the 
Capulets  or  Montagues  had  as  yet  been  born.  I  did  not 
wonder  that  the  audience  displayed  some  vexation  and  dis- 
appointment in  cries  of  '  Basta !  basta ! '  I  sat  for  ten 
minutes  longer.  The  house  was  growing  somewhat  uproarious, 
and  I  was  on  the  point  of  going  out  when  the  stage-bell  rang 
for  the  orchestra,  and  the  instrumentalists  began  the  sad  and 
tender  overture.  That  done,  the  long-delayed  curtain  rose, 
but  on  quite  a  different  scene  from  that  recorded  in  the 
libretto. 

"  Instead  of  the  members  of  the  rival  houses,  testy  and 
turbulent,  some  twenty  men,  in  the  picturesque  costume  of 
the  Abruzzi,  appeared  drawn  up  across  the  stage  with  guns 
levelled  at  the  audience.  One  of  their  number,  who  seemed 
to  be  their  chief,  stepped  to  the  foot-lights,  and  informed  the 
people  in  front,  in  very  un-Tuscan  Italian,  that  they  would  be 
instantly  shot  if  they  made  the  least  resistance. 

"  It  occurred  to  me  that  this  was  quite  a  new  version  of  an 
opera  I  had  supposed  myself  entirely  familiar  with,  and,  in  all 
my  recollection  of  the  lyric  repertoire,  I  could  not  think  of  any 
drama  which  began  exactly  in  that  way. 

"  The  audience  was  evidently  dissatisfied  with  the  first 
scene,  and  many  of  them,  in  spite  of  the  menace  and  the 
levelled  guns,  started  pell-mell  out  of  the  house.     A  number 


452  ITALIAN  BRIGANDS  AS  A  CTORS. 

of  the  ladies  screamed  and  jumped  up  in  the  boxes  ;  but,  in  a 
few  minutes,  they  became  calm  and  quiet,  and  showed  more 
coolness  and  self-discipline  than  their  natural  protectors. 

"  For  myself,  though  I  did  not  particularly  relish  the 
situation,  I  felt  more  amused  than  alarmed  at  its  unexpected 
novelty,  and  I  waited  to  see  what  would  happen  next.  I 
noticed  that  the  men  who  had  attempted  to  quit  the  theatre 
had  returned  paler  than  when  they  sought  to  go  out,  and  I 
overheard  one  of  them  say,  '  The  doors  are  all  guarded  by 
armed  men,  and  we  shall  certainly  be  murdered,  every  one  of 
us  ! '  This  was  comforting  at  least,  and  I  remembered  with 
a  kind  of  melancholy  satisfaction  that,  as  I  had  no  creditors,  I 
should  leave  no  one  to  mourn  for  me,  if  the  worst  came  to 
the  worst. 

"  Fill  your  glass,  my  friend.  Let  me  assure  you  that  in 
this  world  no  man  is  missed  unless  he  leave  debts  behind 
him.  Therefore,  always  owe  somebody  something  if  you  wish 
to  be  remembered. 

"  The  next  thing  in  the  programme  was  the  entrance  into 
the  theatre  of  ten  or  twelve  more  of  the  black-bearded,  peak- 
hatted,  amateur  or  professional  artists,  who  looked  as  if  they 
would  cut  a  throat  for  ten  baioccki,  and  that  the  rate  would 
be  reduced  if  murders  were  required  by  the  dozen.  The  new- 
comers, gun  in  hand  and  stiletto  in  belt,  went  to  everybody 
in  the  house,  and  used  such  persuasive  speech  as  to  induce 
them  to  part  with  their  valuables.  They  transacted  business 
more  rapidly  and  efficiently  than  I  had  ever  known  it  to  be 
transacted  in  Italy. 

"  In  less  than  a  minute,  a  fellow,  who  might  have  been 
poisoner  and  assassin-in-chief  to  the  Borgias,  stepped  up  to 
me,  and,  lifting  his  hat,  said : 

"  '  Buona  sera,  signore ;  scusdtemi ; '  and  held  out  his 
hand  for  my  personal  property. 

"  I  had  prepared  for  him  by  concealing  my  watch  and  purse 
in  an  inside  pocket.  I  presented  two  or  three  bank-notes 
received  some  time  before  in  Palermo  and  not  current  any- 
where, with  an  I.  0.  U.  taken  from  an  imposter  in  Paris,  and 


SOMETHING  NEW  IN  R OBBER  Y.  453 

worth  ten  per  cent,  less  than  nothing.  Determined  not  to  be 
outdone  in  politeness,  I  remarked,  as  I  handed  him  the 
precious  treasure : 

"  '  Siete  molto  cortese? 

"  He  took  what  I  offered  without  question,  and  saying, 
'  Cost,  va  bene ;  grazie  signoref  turned  his  rapacious  atten- 
tion to  my  neighbor. 

"  Very  soon  the  robbery  was  complete,  and  the  thieves 
quitted  the  theatre,  while  the  leader  of  the  band  (I  don't 
mean  the  director  of  the  orchestra)  ordered  the  strangers  on 
the  stage  to  recover  and  shoulder  arms,  which  they  did,  and 
marched  off  without  a  word. 

"  As  soon  as  the  bandits  had  gone,  such  a  chattering,  and 
swearing,  and  general  tumult,  arose  among  the  audience,  who 
then  felt  free  to  express  their  feelings  at  the  outrage,  that  I 
could  not  help  laughing.  While  this  confusion  was  at  its 
height,  the  manager  appeared  before  the  foot-lights  and  made 
an  explanation  of  what  had  taken  place. 

"  He  said  that,  just  as  the  performance  was  about  to  begin, 
a  band  of  brigands  had  descended  from  the  Apennines,  sur- 
rounded the  theatre,  taken  possession  of  all  the  entrances, 
bound  the  artists  and  everybody  behind  the  scenes,  and  then 
proceeded  to  plunder  the  audience  in  the  manner  I  have 
described.  He  thought  there  were  about  one  hundred  of 
them  in  all,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  the  infernal 
scoundrels  would  yet  be  captured  and  shot — a  sentiment 
which  awoke  general  sympathy  and  hearty  applause,  but  not 
an  atom  of  expectation.  He  added,  moreover,  that  he  was 
very  sorry  for  the  unpleasant  but  unavoidable  occurrence  ; 
that  he  was  willing  to  refund  the  money  we  had  paid  for  ad- 
mission, and  would  be  only  too  happy  if  the  bandits  would 
also  make  restitution.  If  we  cared,  however,  to  hear  the 
opera,  he  would  be  charmed  to  present  it,  and  so,  bowing, 
he  retired,  amid  loud  bravos  and  clapping  of  hands. 

"  Nobody  quitted  the  theatre ;  and,  as  I  fancied,  some 
other  novelty  might  be  offered,  my  curiosity  impelled  me  to 
remain. 


454 


THE  AFTER-PIECE. 


"  Bellini's  composition  was  very  fairly  rendered.  The 
artists  and  audience  were  in  unusually  good  spirits  after  the 
peculiar  contre-temps,  and  were  on  the  best  terms  with  each 
other. 

"  I  felt  some  desire  to  know  whether  this  sort  of  thing 
happened  often  or  only  occasionally,  and  on  inquiry  I  was 
told  it  was  altogether  unprecedented.  I  was  glad  of  this,  for 
I  like  novelties,  even  when  they  are  somewhat  disagreeable, 
and  I  consider  that  episode  worth  twice  the  price  of  admission. 
In  fact,  this  cool  and  ingenious  method  of  robbing  a  whole 
audience  pleased  me  so  much  that,  whenever  I  am  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  I  visit  Forli  in  hope  of  seeing  it  again. 

"  I  have  known  a  great  many  changes  of  programme  during 
an  opera  season,  but  that  was  the  first  and  last  time  I  ever 
knew  '  Fra  Diavolo '  substituted  literally  for  the  '  Capuletti  e 
Montecchi '  on  any  stage.  I  like  Bellini ;  but  I  prefer 
bandits.     Camiere,  cavate  il  tappo  e  quella  hottiglidi" 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

FLOKENCE. 

IRENZE  LA  BELLA,  as  the  Italians  call  it, 
appears  to  more  advantage  during  May,  and 
early  in  June  than  at  any  other  season.  Then 
the  weather  is  charming.  The  days  are  perfect — 
Nature's  editions  of  poetry  bound  in  blue  and  gold, 
— and  the  nights,  star-studded  and  moonlit,  are 
deliriously  cool,  exactly  of  the  temperature  to  ren- 
der out-door  life  pleasant,  and  sleep  refreshing.  Evening 
rides  and  promenades  are  of  course  enjoyable,  and  are  made 
the  most  of  by  the  pleasure-loving  population  who  throng  the 
Lung-Arno,  the  Via  Tornabuoni  and  other  prominent  thor- 
oughfares. 

The  Cascine,  the  principal  park  and  drive,  is  very  gay  to- 
ward sunset  with  handsome  carriages  and  horses.  All  the 
fashion  and  culture  goes  there  to  visit,  as  well  as  to  drive, 
and  one  has  an  opportunity  to  see  the  finest  and  best-dressed 
men  and  women  of  the  city.  The  Cascine  has  charming 
walks,  a  zoological  garden,  a  pyramidal  fountain,  a  cafe,  a 
beautiful  villa,  and  is  the  most  attractive  spot  about  Florence. 
To  drive  in  the  Cascine  and  to  have  a  box  at  the  opera  is  to  be 
fashionable  in  Florence. 

There  is  much  wealth  in  the  town,  which  displays  itself  in 
the  elaborate  toilets  of  the  privileged  and  prosperous  classes, 
who  are  fond  of  show  and  every  kind  of  social  dissipation. 

The  advantage  of  being  in  Italy  in  spring  and  early  sum- 
mer is  that  you  see  the  people  of  the  country  instead  of  the 
crowd  of  English  and  Americans  who  are  there  during  the 


45Q  FLORENCE  "  THE  BEA  UT1FUL." 

winter.  The  Italians  do  not  seem  to  like  foreigners,  and 
keep  within  doors  when  the  annual  invasion  begins.  After 
the  month  of  April  they  feel  that  their  country  is  their  own. 
They  go  out  and  lead  the  life  which  is  natural  to  them — one 
of  dreamy  indolence  and  sensuous  indulgence.  I  know  no 
people  who  get  more  satisfaction  out  of  existence.  They 
dwell  in  the  passing  hour,  and  will  not  permit  the  future  to 
trouble  them.  "We  fret  and  wear  ourselves  out  before  we  have 
reached  middle  age,  so  taxing  our  nerves  and  will  that  when 
we  have  leisure  we  have  not  the  power  of  enjoying  it. 

Florence  does  not  deserve  its  self-given  title,  "  The 
Beautiful  ;"  for,  apart  from  its  situation,  there  is  no  particu- 
lar beauty  in  it.  It  is  interesting,  however,  and  several  weeks 
can  well  be  spent  there.  It  is  famous  for  its  eminent  men, 
and  was,  you  know,  the  seat  of  the  famous  Medici  family, 
who  acquired  immense  fortunes  by  their  commercial  enter- 
prises. They  really  deserved  the  name  of  merchant  princes, 
which  is  so  much  abused  in  this  country.  If  a  man  in  trade 
grows  rich  here  by  the  practice  of  all  the  arts  of  selfishness 
and  meanness  he  is  often  styled  a  merchant  prince,  especially 
if  he  happens  to  buy  a  few  daubs  and  monstrous  marbles, 
and  a  lot  of  books  he  never  reads. 

Dante  was  born  there,  and  a  splendid  statue  of  white  mar- 
ble is  erected  to  his  memory  in  the  Piazza  Santa  Croce.  The 
pedestal,  twenty-two  feet  high,  is  adorned  with  four  reliefs 
representing  scenes  from  the  "  Divina  Commedia ;"  at  the  cor- 
ners are  four  lions,  and  about  the  base  are  the  arms  of  the 
principal  cities  of  Italy;  The  poet  is  buried  in  Ravenna,  but 
all  honor  is  done  to  him  in  his  native  city.  His  portraits  are 
seen  everywhere.  They  are  not  the  ideal  faces  we  are  accus- 
tomed to,  but  they  are  true  to  nature.  In  the  Ufizzi  Gallery  is  a 
cast  of  the  bard's  face,  taken  just  after  death.  It  is  very  thin 
and  worn,  and  inexpressibly  sad.  It  looks  much  like  the  face  of 
an  American  Indian,  and  might  easily  be  mistaken   therefor. 

The  Cathedral,  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  in  the  Piazza  del 
Duomo  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  imposing  churches  in 
Europe.    It  was  begun  in  1398,  and  still  looks  incomplete,  from 


CHUR  CHES  AND  PAL  A  CES.  457 

the  fact  that  it  has  no  facade,  the  old  one  having  been  torn 
down  nearly  three  centuries  ago  to  give  place  to  a  new  one. 
It  is  Italian  gothic,  522  feet  long,  and  322  feet  broad,  and  280 
feet  high.  Its  dome  is  larger  than  that  of  St.  Peter's  at 
Rome,  or  St.  Paul's  at  London,  but  is  out  of  proportion  to 
the  body  of  the  church,  which  is  built  of  various  colored  mar- 
bles, and  has  a  very  singular  and  impressive  appearance.  Its 
interior  is  plain,  even  to  baldness. 

The  Campanile,  the  most  remarkable  bell-tower  in  Italy,  is 
275  feet  high,  and  furnishes  a  splendid  view  of  the  city,  the 
valley  of  the  Arno,  the  surrounding  heights  and  the  distant 
mountains.  I  enjoyed,  exceedingly,  the  panorama  from  its 
summit.  The  Baptistery  is  world-renowned  for  its  bronze 
doors.  Two  of  them,  by  Ghiberti,  were  declared  by  Michel 
Angelo  worthy  to  be  the  gates  of  Paradise. 

Santo  Croce,  another  famous  church,  is  460  feet  long  and 
134  feet  broad.  Its  new  fagade,  of  black  and  white  marble, 
is  handsome,  but  rather  staring  in  style.  The  church  is 
nearly  six  centuries  old,  and  contains  monuments  to  Dante, 
Alfieri,  Macchiavelli,  Nobili,  Aretino,  Galileo,  and  others. 
Michel  Angelo  and  the  Comitess  of  Albany  (Alfieri's  mis- 
tress), are  buried  there. 

The  Ufizzi  and  Pitti  Palaces  contain  the  largest  and  best 
art  collections  in  the  world.  The  two  are  connected  by  a  cov- 
ered gallery  extending  over  the  Arno,  and  ten  minutes  is  re- 
quired to  walk  from  one  to  the  other.  The  Ufizzi  has  the 
famous  Venus  de'  Medici,  in  which  I  was  sorely  disappointed. 
It  has  little  spirit  or  suggestiveness,  even  if  Cleomenes  did 
make  it,  and  the  head  is  too  small  for  the  body.  If  the  Venus 
represented  the  ideal  of  Greek  beauty,  we  have  assuredly  im- 
proved upon  it.  The  Venus  de'  Medici  is  far  inferior  to  my 
mind,  to  the  Venus  of  Milo,  the  Venus  of  the  Capitol,  or  even 
the  Venus  of  Canova  in  the  Pitti.  I  have  studied  the 
Medicean  Venus,  but  I  cannot  understand  how  it  obtained  its 
reputation.  The  face  is  not  handsome  nor  expressive,  and  I 
am  sure  there  are  many  women  in  America  who  are  comelier 
and  have  better  figures  than  the  celebrated  marble. 


458  RENO  WNED  PA  INT1NGS. 

The  Ufizzi  has  probably  three  hundred  statues,  and  over 
two  thousand  pictures,  some  of  which  are  the  best  on  the 
Continent.  The  Tribune  contains  the  "  Venus,"  the 
"  Apollino,"  the  "  Wrestlers,"  and  the  "  Grinder,"  in  mar- 
ble, and  several  of  Raffaelle's  best  paintings,  Titian's  two 
celebrated  "  Venuses"  (they  are  supposed  to  be  portraits 
of  the  mistresses  of  the  Due  d'  Urbino),  Guercino's  "  En- 
dymion"  and  "  Sybil  of  Samos,"  and  Andrea  del  Sarto's 
"  Madonna  and  Saints." 

The  two  halls  full  of  portraits  of  the  most  distinguished 
painters,  done  by  themselves,  are  very  interesting.  They  in- 
clude every  one,  from  Raffaelle  to  the  artists  of  the  present 
day. 

The  Pitti  has  five  hundred  paintings  of  note,  among  them 
some  choice  Tintorettos,  Rubenses,  Salvator  Rosas,  Carlo 
Dolces,  Velasquezs,  Guidos,  Caraccis,  Vandykes,  Murillos, 
and  Coreggios.  The  saloons  of  the  Palace  are  finely  fres- 
coed and  ornamented,  but  they  are  so  much  like  the  palaces 
you  see  all  the  way  from  Paris  to  Naples  that  you  care  little 
for  them.  The  galleries  furnish  the  means  of  study  for 
months,  and  are  delightful  for  esthetic  loungers. 

Victor  Emanuel  lives  in  the  Pitti  (or  did  until  the  capital 
was  removed  to  Rome),  which,  as  the  Ufizzi,  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio,  and  Loggia  dei  Lanzi,  is  built  of  dark  and  mas- 
sive stone,  and  looks  like  a  grim  fortress  of  the  feudal  times. 
I  have  seen  Victor  often.  He  is  a  king  who  is  not  kingly. 
He  does  not  care  much  for  his  royalty,  it  is  said  by  those  who 
claim  to  know.  He  is  a  physical  being,  who  likes  open  air, 
streams,  mountains,  forests  ;  and  yet  has  no  sentimental  as- 
sociations with  Nature.  He  is  neither  poetic  nor  fastidious, 
not  at  all  an  Italian  in  feeling  or  in  temperament.  If  he  had 
more  intellect  and  culture,  he  might  be  a  voluptuary.  As  it 
is,  he  is  the  antipodes  of  a  spiritualist.  He  is  more  like  an 
old  German  baron  of  the  past  century  than  a  king  of  the 
present  day.  Give  him  a  boar  to  hunt,  and  he  whistles  away 
the  cares  of  state ;  a  rustic  feast  to  sit  at,  and  he  drowns  un- 
pleasant memories  in  draughts  of  Lachrymse  Christi. 


TEE  KING'S  PERSONAL  APPEARANCE.  159 

No  one  would  suspect  the  careless  and  jolly  Victor  of  being 
either  an  Italian  or  a  king.  He  is,  I  repeat,  more  Teutonic 
than  Tuscan,  and  in  semblance  more  plebeian  than  patrician. 
He  has  a  coarse  face,  which  would  be  hard  but  for  its  sensual 
lines.  It  is  broad,  and  yet  compressed  between  the  chin  and 
forehead,  as  if  it  had  been  melted  and  run  into  too  small  a 
mold.  He  might  sit  for  one  of  Rubens's  satyrs,  and  the  copy 
would  require  little  alteration.  An  easy,  good-natured  fel- 
low, though  his  short  aspiring  nose  gives  him  an  air  of  mean- 
ness and  suspicion,  he  is  too  indolent  to  be  tyrannical  and  too 
careless  to  be  just.  He  enjoys  royalty,  because  it  gives  him 
an  opportunity  to  have  a  good  time  ;  and  to  have  a  good  time 
is  with  him  the  best  thing  that  is  to  be  gotten  out  of  life. 

He  can  hardly  be  called  popular  ;  nor  is  he  unpopular,  for 
he  is  associated  with  the  idea  of  a  United  Italy,  dear  to  the 
Italian  heart.  He  is  as  much  attached  to  his  country  as  a 
man  of  his  constitution  can  be  ;  and  would  be  glad  to  see  it 
great,  if  its  greatness  did  not  interfere  with  his  convenience 
and  material  comfort. 

The  Boboli  Gardens  are  visit-worthy.  Cosimo  I.  deserves 
the  credit  of  originating  them,  having  appropriated  a  large 
sum  to  them  more  than  three  centuries  and  a  half  ago. 
They  are  on  the  side  of  a  hill  and  command  fine  views  of  the 
city.  The  long  walks  are  bordered  with  evergreens  and 
statues,  and,  with  the  grottoes  and  basins  and  casinos,  make 
the  place  very  pleasant.  It  is  estimated  that  several  mil- 
lions of  dollars  have  been  expended  on  the  Gardens.  The 
open  space  called  the  amphitheatre  was  formerly  devoted  to 
the  merry-makings  of  the  Court,  and  is  full  of  associations 
with  the  Medicis,  their  gaieties  and  gallantries,  which  latter 
were  by  no  means  few.  It  was  once  said  there  never  was  one 
of  the  Medici  who  had  not  half  a  dozen  mistresses,  and  that 
the  Father  of  his  Country  and  the  Cardinals  were  no  excep- 
tions. That  may  have  been  slander  ;  but  all  contemporaneous 
accounts  agree  in  representing  them  as  a  family  of  supremely 
liberal  morals. 

Above  the  Boboli  is  the  Fortezza   di  Belvedere,  built  h} 


4G0  FAMOUS  STATUES. 

Ferdinand  I.  in  1590,  which  is  of  little   use   now,  though  it 
adds  to  the  picturesqueness  ol  the  hill  on  which  it  stands. 

The  Piazza  della  Signoria,  is  the  most  noticeable  in  the  city. 
Formerly  the    Grand  Ducal  Square,  it  is  now  the  center  of 
traffic,  and   full   of  retail  venders  and  hawkers  of  all  sorts. 
Savonarola  and  two  of  his  monks  were  burned  at  the  stake 
there  in  1498.     The  Palazzo  Vecchio,  once  the  seat  of  the 
Republican   Government,  still   frowns   down   there,  with   its 
history  of  six  centuries  of  chance  and  change.     At  the  en- 
trance to  the  palace  are  statues  of  David,  by  Michel  Angelo, 
and  Hercules  and  Cacus  by  his  rival,  Bandinelli.     The  Square 
contains  other  works  by  the   same   artists,  and   the  famous 
fountain,  with  Neptune  and  the  Tritons.     In  the  portico  of 
the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi  are  Giovanni  di  Bologna's  "  Rape  of 
the  Sabines,"  Cellini's   "  Perseus"  (bronze),  the  "  Rape  of 
Polyxena,"   a  copy  of  "  Ajax  with  the  Body   of  Patroclus," 
and  other  statues. 

The  portico  of  the  Ufizzi  is  ornamented  with  busts  of  prom- 
inent Tuscans  ;  among  them  Dante,  Petrarca,  Boccaccio, 
Macchiavelli,  Cellini,  da  Vinci,  Amerigo  Vespucci  (he  un- 
justly gave  his  name  to  our  country),  Michel  Angelo,  Galileo, 
Giotto,  Donatello,  and  others — certainly  a  very  creditable 
array  of  names. 

The  houses  of  Galileo,  Vespucci,  Guicciardini,  and  Bianca 
Capello,  the  beautiful  mistress  and  wife  of  Francesco  de'  Me- 
dici, whose  life  was  so  full  of  romance,  are  frequently  visited 
by  tourists.  Bianca' s  home  was  the  most  interesting  to  me, 
for  with  all  her  weakness  she  must  have  been  supremely  atr 
tractive. 

1  used  to  go  to  the  Cascine  to  dine  every  day,  and,  seated 
in  the  open  air  beside  the  Arno,  in  full  view  of  the  Apen- 
nines and  the  surrounding  hills,  covered  with  villas  and  old  mon- 
asteries, if  I  had  had  only  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  flask  of  wine, 
it  would  have  been  more  than  a  banquet  within  wall  s.  There 
were  always  wandering  musicians  in  the  park.  They  came  to 
play  for  me  while  I  ate — and  I  found  Bellini  and  Mozart, 
with  the  soft  sky  and  the  mountains,  the  best  sauce  in  the 
world  for  the  viands  the  bottega  brought  me. 


SUBURBS  OF  FLORENCE. 


461 


A  cutlet  dipped  in  the  dreamy  air  of  Tuscany,  a  soup  sea- 
soned with  a  delicious  duet  of  Verdi,  an  ice  crowned  with  the 
curve  ot  a  distant  mountain,  is  refreshment  and  nourishment 
to  the  mind  no  less  than  the  body.  I  shall  long  remember 
that  more  than  Apician  dining  on  the  Arno,  for  I  have  fes- 
tooned it  with  beauty,  and  hung  it  in  one  of  the  fairest  cham- 
bers of  my  memory. 

Fiesole  is  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Florence  most  frequently 
visited.  It  is  on  the  summit  of  a  high  hill,  very  picturesque, 
and  gives  a  splendid  view.  Once  a  monastery  and  a  church 
were  there,  the  latter  containing  monuments  of  the  noted 
families  of  the  time.  Fiesole  is  an  Etruscan  town,  so  old  no 
one  can  ever  guess  its  age.  Most  of  its  ancient  ruins  have 
been  destroyed  or  are  occupied  by  convents  and  monasteries, 
which  very  naturally  arise  on  the  sites  and  remains  of  Pagan 
temples  and  monuments.  Near  Fiesole  are  many  handsome 
villas,  with  highly  cultivated- grounds.  In  one  of  them,  be- 
longing to  the  Grand  Ducal  family,  Boccaccio  assumed  that 
the  stories  of  the  Decameron  were  told  by  a  company  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  to  distract  their  mind  from  the  fearful 
ravages  of  the  plague. 

Florence  is  growing  rapidly,  and  becoming  very  French  in 
character.  Indeed,  it  seems  like  a  little  Paris,  though  ne- 
cessarily inferior  to  the  great  capital  in  elegance  and  luxury. 
Its  population,  about  130,000  to  140,000,  is  annually  adding 
to  its  cosmopolitan  character.  Its  climate  is  not  desirable, 
but  still  it  is  one  of  the  favorite  capitals  of  pleasure-seekers, 
who  are  quite  resigned  to  being  chilled  to  the  marrow  in  the 
winter,  and  stung  to  madness  by  the  mosquitoes  during  the 
autumn ;  for  they  know,  however  they  suffer,  that  they  are  in 
Florence  the  Beautiful. 

I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Italians  are. the 
greatest  chatter-boxes  on  the  planet.  They  can  talk  more  on 
smaller  provocation  than  any  people  I  have  known.  The  French 
have  the  reputation  of  great  babblers,  but  they 'can't  begin  to 
rival  the  subjects  of  Victor  Emanuel.  The  most  ignorant  of 
them  gabble  about  a  bit  of  garlic  or  a  bean  as  if  the  destiny 
of  the  universe  depended  on  that  particular  vegetable. 


462  A  NATION  OF  BABBLERS. 

They  must  hold  the  religious  belief  that  they  can  talk  away 
their  sins  ;  and  so  they  tire  their  tongues  in  this  world  for 
hope  of  pardon  in  the  next.  I  am  afraid,  if  I  had  the  par- 
doning power,  I  should  be  less  lenient  with  the  perpetual 
babblers  than  they  would  like.  I  am  fond  of  the  liquid  sweet- 
ness of  the  Italian — though  you  don't  hear  much  Tuscan  in  the 
country — but  its  endless  continuance  is  wearying.  I  have  fre- 
quently gone  to  bed  with  a  lot  of  Italians  jabbering  under  my 
window,  and  when  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  they  were  at  it 
still.  I  don't  know  if  it  was  the  same  individuals,  but  it  was 
the  same  people. 

You  remember  the  once  popular  play  of  the  "  Dumb  Girl 
of  Genoa."  I  am  confident  that  the  man  who  wrote  it  never 
was  in  Italy.  There  are  no  dumb  persons  in  Genoa,  or  any 
other  Italian  city.  An  Italian  cannot  be  dumb,  and  I  have 
sometimes  regretted  that  certain  Americans  I  wot  of  were 
not  deaf.  It  would  not  be  so  bad  if  the  Italians  spoke  the 
language  Dante,  or  Tasso,  or  Petrarch  wrote,  or  anything  like 
it ;  but  they  have  a  jargan  no  scholar  can  comprehend.  Ari- 
osto  and  Alfieri  would  be  as  much  at  loss  to  fathom  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words  poured  out  in  that  country  as  an  ancient 
Athenian  would  be  to  understand  a  modern  professor's  Greek 
harangue.  In  Piedmont,  Lombardy,  Tuscany,  and  Romagna 
— even  in  Bologna,  so  famous  once  for  its  learning  and  cul- 
ture— they  have  a  dialect  of  the  most  extraordinary  kind.  It 
is  not  like  any  other  language  on  earth  or  under  it.  Mezzo- 
fante,  if  he  were  alive,  could  not  tell  on  a  wager  what  the 
strange  medley  is  all  about.  It  is  all  folly  to  tell  travelers  they 
should  speak  Italian  when  they  visit  Florence  or  Naples ;  the 
better  they  speak  it  the  worse  they  are  off.  What  they  need 
most  is  capacity  to  swear  roundly  in  English  and  to  carry  a 
full  purse.  With  these  accomplishments  they  can  go  any- 
where between  the  Mediterranean  and  Adriatic,  and  get 
along  very  comfortably. 

The  common  people  are  very  poor  linguists ;  but  to  make 
up  for  the  defect  they  claim  to  speak  every  language.  Ask  a 
hack-driver  or  waiter,  or  porter,  if  he  knows  Hebrew.  Chal- 


FL  UENCT  IN  LANG  UA GES.  463 

daic  or  Choctaw,  and  he  will  reply  in  the  affirmative ;  and 
yet  the  only  thing  you  can  ring  out  of  him  is  his  barbarous 
patois.  I  tested  the  question  one  day  by  making  the  inquiry 
in  six  tongues,  and  each  time  the  camiere  declared  "  Si,  Sig- 
nore,"  with  an  emphasis  that  amounted  to  an  affidavit.  Then 
their  French  is  worse  than  their  Italian,  which  would  seem 
impossible.  I  was  afraid  when  I  got  home  I  should  have  my 
ideas  of  language  so  confused  that  I  couldn't  render  myself 
intelligible  in  my  native  tongue.     Perhaps  I  don't. 

I  have  hardly  encountered  an  Italian  in  his  native  land 
who  spoke  English.  One  of  those  who  spoke  it,  after  a  fash- 
ion, was  a  landlord  at  Genoa,  and  he  talked  perpetually.  He 
never  saw  me  but  he  began  to  gabble — proud,  no  doubt,  of 
his  accomplishment — and  went  on  until  I  informed  him  con- 
fidentially that  I  was  a  Russian,  and  that  beyond  a  few  stock 
phrases  I  knew  nothing  of  English.  He  then  told  me  he 
thought  he  had  discovered  a  Russian  accent  in  my  speech, 
and  hoped  I  would  lose  no  time  in  acquiring  a  language  that 
was  so  "  magnifico  bucheeful." 

Wasn't  that  carrying  impudence  and  patronage  to  some- 
thing like  extremes  ? 


CHAPTER     LIX. 


HOME. 


jY  observations  and  experiences  in  Rome  were 
before  the  Pope  was  deprived  of  his  temporal 
power,  and  before  that  city  became  the  capital 

of  Italy.     So  I  shall  speak  of  it  as  it  was  then. 
In  Rome  nothing  moves  but  the  priests  and 

the  monks.     It  is  a  species  of  living  grave,  the 

catacomb  of  classicism,  the  stronghold  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  Independent  of  theology,  an- 
tiquities, and  art,  the  city  has  little  interest  or  beauty.  One 
wearies  of  it  in  a  day,  and  is  bound  to  it  in  a  month.  The 
charm  of  the  place,  to  a  man  of  my  temperament,  is  that  the 
people  are  not  demoralized  by  the  spirit  of  work.  Labor  is 
an  inconsistency  and  an  impertinence  there.  Unless  you  are 
an  artist,  or  an  ecclesiastic,  or  a  tourist,  there  is  nothing  to 
be  done. 

Rome  has  no  commerce,  and  wants  none.  The  spirit  of 
the  Papal  States  is  stagnation  and  prayer.  If  you  are  a  de- 
vout Catholic,  say  your  beads,  believe  in  all  miracles,  past, 
present,  and  to  come,  and  your  soul  will  be  secure  and  your 
mind  at  rest.  Concern  not  yourself  about  this  world.  Do 
not  fret.  You  are  in  the  best  of  keeping.  Chapels  and  cre- 
dos will  send  you  direct  to  Heaven,  when  this  pleasant  wine- 
drinking  and  daily  lounging,  known  as  life,  is  at  an  end.  The 
skies  are  soft :  the  soil  is  rich ;  graves  are  cheap.  Nature 
and  the  Church  will  provide  for  you.  Be  at  peace  with  your- 
self and  mankind.  The  angelus  is  sounding.  All  sins  may 
be  forgiven ;  all  virtue  is  in  faith.     Bend  the  knee,  and  re- 


REVERIES  ON  THE  PAST.  465 

sign  yourself  to  ecclesiastic  keeping,  that  your  dream  of  relig- 
ion may  not  be  disturbed. 

To  a  heretic  that  is  what  the  daily  life  of  Rome,  secular 
and  spiritual,  seems  to  say.  I  hear  it  in  the  monotonous  ap- 
peal of  the  beggars,  in  the  discordant  cry  of  the  hawkers,  in 
the  peal  of  the  campanili,  in  the  chatter  of  the  rambling 
monks. 

Existence  on  the  Tiber,  is  a  simulacrum  of  being.  I  wander 
about  there  with  imagination  and  memory,  and  walk  back 
through  the  centuries  as  through  the  excavations  of  the  Pal- 
ace of  the  Caesars  and  the  crypts  of  the  Mamertine  Prison. 
The  Vatican,  the  Capitol,  and  the  Villa  Albani  draw  my 
breath  into  their  storied  marbles,  until  they  live  again,  and 
I  flit  around  them  like  a  pale  ghost. 

Romulus,  Nerva,  Tarquin,  Pompey,  Caesar,  Tiberius,  Nero, 
are  no  longer  dead.  I  feel  their  presence  on  every  hand,  and 
the  Gods  of  Olympus  are  restored.  Jove,  the  divine  autocrat, 
once  more  thunders  and  controls.  Mars,  the  clamorous  bully, 
bellows  over  the  dreary  campagna.  Bacchus,  the  rowdy 
deity,  crushes  the  purple  grape  until  it  flushes  his  laughing 
face.  Venus,  the  enchanting  hussy,  is  delightfully  disloyal, 
and  makes  her  disloyalty  poetical.  Minerva,  the  blue  stock- 
ing of  the  skies,  frowns  upon  all  flirtations ;  and  Juno,  the 
jealous  wife  of  two  thousand  years  ago,  is  wretched  for  the 
inconstancy  of  her  erratic  lord. 

I  see  the  symbols  of  Paganism  and  Christianity — the  mar- 
ble Apollos  and  the  painted  Christs — confronting  each  other 
in  every  gallery,  and  Paganism  appears  to  have  the  right  of 
reigning  there.  The  ruins  of  Rome  assert  themselves  in  op- 
position to  the  sentimental  teachers  of  the  modern  faith,  and 
every  arch  and  every  column  cries  out  against  the  invader  of 
the  ancient  creed. 

Though  no  archeologist,  I  love  to  linger  in  the  shadows  the 
dead  centuries  have  cast,  and  forget  for  the  time  the  practical 
spirit  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  Temple  of  Peace,  the 
Arch  of  Septimus  Severus,  the  Baths  of  Diocletian,  the  Via 
Appia,  with  its  sumptuous  tombs,  woo  me  every  day.     In  the 


4G6  THE  CENCl  PALACE. 

whispering  wind  is  the  soft  voice  of  Egeria,  and  the  strange 
confession  of  Sabina ;  in  the  yellow  Tiber  the  history  of  Nerva 
and  Augustus  is  mirrored ;  in  the  Alban  and  Sabine  hills  all 
the  past  mingles  with  their  blue  haze,  and  converts  thought 
into  a  vision  of  departed  ages. 

The  Cenci  Palace,  so  famous  in  history,  and  so  indissolubly 
associated  with  the  tragic  death  of  Beatrice,  about  which  a 
hundred  stories  have  been  written — looks  gloomy  enough  near 
the  dirty  and  dismal  quarter  known  as  the  Ghetto.  I  have 
passed  it  a  number  of  times,  and  have  always  stopped  before 
it  as  if  the  passing  breeze  might  whisper  some  of  its  terrible 
secrets.  The  Palace  is  a  large  and  dreary  pile  of  architecture, 
and  was  for  many  years  deserted.  The  doors  and  windows 
were  carried  off,  and  only  bats  and  lizards  were  its  occupants. 
The  Government  is  said  to  have  purchased  it  recently ;  but 
it  still  resembles  a  miserable  tenement  house,  clothes  hang- . 
ing  out  of  the  windows  to  dry,  and  filth  being  the  outward 
sign  of  its  inhabitation.  The  building  is  thought  by  many  of 
the  superstitious  Italians  to  be  haunted,  and  consequently 
none  but  persons  pressed  by  poverty  will  live  in  it.  It  seems, 
indeed,  as  if  it  might  be  accursed,  so  dismal  and  dreary  are 
its  massive  proportions.  Reports  are  current  that  terrible 
shrieks  are  heard  in  the  night,  and  that  a  figure  in  white, 
with  blood  upon  its  garments,  is  seen  in  the  spacious  corridor. 
That  is  thought  to  be  Beatrice,  whose  spirit  cannot  rest.  The 
palace  has  been  blessed  by  the  Pope  again  and  again ;  but 
still  these  ignorant  people  deem  it  accursed. 

The  story  of  the  Cenci  is  most  revolting ;  but  I  think  I 
never  quite  understood  it  until  I  saw  Rome.  The  father  of 
Beatrice,  Count  Francesco,  seems  to  have  been  a  most  de- 
praved wretch  of  the  Alexander  VI.  pattern,  and  like  that 
notorious  Pope,  a  creature  of  unbridled  lust.  His  daughter, 
who  was  as  pure  and  lovely  as  her  parent  was  monstrous,  had 
the  misfortune  to  inspire  him  with  an  incestuous  passion. 
She  begged  to  be  spared,  but  he  forced  her  to  obey  his  will, 
'until  at  last,  mad  with  her  degradation,  and  revolting  at  her 
compulsory  sin,  she  conspired  with  her  brother  to  have  her 


TROUBLE  WITH  THE  SAINTS. 


4G7 


father  assassinated.  He  was  murdered,  and  she  was  arrested 
and  arraigned  for  trial.  The  crime  was  not  proved  upon  her ; 
but  she  was  condemned  and  executed,  the  Pope,  who  had 
been  the  friend  of  the  Count,  refusing  to  show  the  poor  girl 
mercy.  Every  one  loved  her ;  her  death  was  universally 
mourned,  and  the  Pope  execrated  for  his  inhumanity,  for 
which  he  is  said  to  have  had  secret  reasons,  never  yet  known. 
Guido's  picture  is  known  everywhere  through  the  number- 
less copies.  The  original  is  in  the  Barberini  Palace ;  but  I 
cannot  think  it  faithful,  though  the  artist  is  said  to  have 
painted  it  the  night  before  her  execution.  The  face  is  sweet 
but  insipid,  more  resembling  that  of  a  child  than  a  mature, 
intense  woman  of  character,  as  Beatrice  unquestionably  was. 
I  have  often  wondered  how  many  saints  there  are.  I  tried 
to  count  them  when  a  little  boy,  but  the  enumeration  table 
ran  out,  and  as  they  have  made  many  more  saints  and  no 
more  figures,  I  have  not  tried  it  since.  I  once  thought  I 
should  like  to  be  a  saint  myself;  but  my  evangelical  educa- 
tion was  neglected,  and  I  failed  in  my  ambition.  I  don't 
mourn  much,  however ;  there  are  too  many  canonized  crea- 
tures to  suit  me.  If  there  were  only  two  or  three  million,  I 
shouldn't  care ;  but  who  wants  his  sinfulness  swallowed  up  in 
so  much  saintliness  ?  I  have  been  told  that  all  the  Conti- 
nental directories  are  used  for 
\  saint-making,  but  I  am  confident 
<  the  story  is  not  true,  as  the  di- 
rectories have  not  names  enough. 
It  is  necessary  to  know  a  vast 
deal  about  the  saints  in  Italy  to 
understand  the  pictures — and  I 
have  found  my  knowlenge  inade- 
quate. I  undertook  to  read  the 
"Lives  of  the  Saints,"  but  I 
became  financially  embarrassed 
before  I  could  pay  the  trans- 
portation on  the  books  which  a 
friend  with  a  huge   library  had 


A    LIVE    SAIXT. 


been  kind  enousrh  to  lend  me. 


468  AN  IMPOSING  CEREMONY 

My  daily  round  of  churches  prompted  me  to  believe  they 
did  not  lead  very  happy  lives,  unless  being  broiled  on  grid- 
irons, shot  full  of  arrows,  and  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  animals 
constitute  happiness.  Perhaps  it  did  in  their  day ;  but  now 
the  idea  of  pleasure  is  somewhat  changed. 

The  authorized  accounts  say  the  saints  died  singing  hymns ; 
that  they  were  delighted  with  their  martyrdom,  and  wouldn't 
have  had  things  otherwise  if  they  could.  Probably  they  were 
more  contented  with  their  death  than  their  life.  I  should 
be,  if  part  of  my  experience  consisted  in  being  stewed,  boiled, 
and  fricasseed,  every  morning  before  breakfast. 

The  Church  at  Rome  during  the  summer  has  as  many  theo- 
logic  theatricals  and  sacerdotal  mummeries  (and  they  consti- 
tute one  of  the  principal  attractions  of  Rome)  as  it  has  during 
the  winter  and  the  early  spring.  And  the  summer  spectacles, 
I  am  informed  by  the  cognoscenti  of  the  Church,  are  as  curi- 
ous and  certainly  as  interesting  as  the  shows  of  Holy  Week 
and  Christmas  time. 

These  priestly  pomps  have  never  had  the  smallest  charm 
for  me — in  fact,  they  rarely  have  much  for  any  heretics  save 
feminine  ones ;  and  yet,  when  some  new  kind  of  monkish  dis- 
play is  announced,  I  go  and  look  at  it,  to  see  if  it  can  possibly 
be  more  ridiculous  than  the  last  one  I  may  have  witnessed. 

On  a  certain  Sunday  it  was  made  known  to  me  that  the 
remains  of  St.  Francesca  the  Roman  (if  I  err  in  the  name, 
any  other  of  the  million  or  two  of  saints  will  answer  as  well) 
were  to  be  removed  from  the  Monastery  of  Tor  de  Specchi  to 
the  church  bearing  the  title  of  the  saint.  It  seems  that  some 
years  ago  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  Palavicini  family  left  a 
large  sum  to  build  a  new  church  for  St.  Frances ;  and,  as  the 
sacred  remains  were  interred  there,  it  became  necessary  to 
remove  them  to  the  monastery.  The  church  being  finished, 
poor  St.  Frances  was  to  be  carried  back  in  grand  procession, 
and  to  be  buried  once  more,  until  her  canonized  dust  was  re- 
quired again  for  a  public  show.  I  was  told  that  this  was  to 
be  one  of  the  most  imposing  processions  the  city  had  seen  for 
years,  and  its  prominent  feature  the  walking  on  foot  of  the 
noblest  ladies  of  Rome,  draped  in  sables  and  bearing  torches. 


THE  PROCESSION. 


4G9 


The  time  named  for  the  procession  was  six  in  the  evening. 
I  was  in  the  Campo  Yaccino  an  hour  before ;  but,  as  the  car- 
riage was  comfortable,  the  weather  delightful,  and  my  com- 
panions agreeable,  I  bore  the  martyrdom  of  waiting  with  due 
resignation.  About  seven  some  of  the  Cardinals'  carriages 
drove  up  with  their  flaring,  gilt  and  crimson  trappings,  and 
the  venerable  prelates  were  handed  out  with  exceeding  cere- 
mony. Then  came  monks  of  half  a  dozen  orders,  all  looking 
equally  devout  and  dirty ;  then  priests,  in  white  surplices, 
bearing  candles  and  chanting  hymns ;  then  youthful  choris- 
ters, singing  in  shrill  voices ;  then  the  Swiss  Guard,  whose 
uniform  Michel  Angelo  designed  from  a  study  of  the  middle 
ages,  and  made  supremely  grotesque  ;  then  the  Papal  Zouaves, 
well-dressed  and  indolent,  with  crucifixes.  Madonnas  and 
baldachini  mingled  here  and  there  ;  and  then  the  body  of  the 
saint  in  a  palanquin,  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  four  anointed 
priests.  I  say  the  body,  because  I  suppose  the  mummy-like 
figure  I  saw,  with  clasped  hands  and  hideous  grinning  head, 
was  intended  to  represent  the  mortal  remains  of  what  had 
once  been  the  honored  devotee.     It  may  have  been  an  effigy 

only,  or  it  may 
have  been  (to 
the  devout 
Catholic 
m  i  n d  )  the 
breath i  n g 
saint,  restor- 
ed to  life  for 
that  particu- 
lar occasion 
by  one  of  the 
every-  day 
miracles  for 
which  the 
Roma  n 
C  h  u  r  c  h  is 
famous. 
the  Continent 


A   DEAD    SAINT. 


I  never  can  determine  when 


traveling 


on 


470  PROCESSION  OF  NOBLE  WOMEN. 

what  I  am  expected  to  see  or  believe  in  the  way  of  ecclesiastic 
marvels.  The  Church  has  such  illimitable  power  to  subvert 
the  laws  of  Nature  and  obtain  special  interventions  of  Heaven 
that  I  may  have  beheld  wonders  unconsciously.  In  describ- 
ing any  ceremony,  therefore,  I  hesitate  to  say  what  I  have 
seen  until  I  learn  by  canonical  authority  what  has  happened 
that  the  outward  eye  of  the  heretic  cannot  perceive.  I  have 
doubted  through  my  mere  reason  many  things  I  have  read  of 
in  this  country  as  actual  occurrences ;  and  yet  they  are  sup- 
ported by  such  a  weight  of  sacerdotal  authority  that  I  must 
either  believe  or  be  discarded  from  the  faithful. 

But  to  return.  After  the  body,  living  or  dead,  of  the  saint, 
followed  about  forty  women,  robed  in  black,  with  long  black 
veils  over  their  heads,  and  carrying  tapers.  These  were  the 
feminine  representatives  of  the  best  families  of  Rome — the 
Dorias,  the  Palavicinis,  the  Borgheses,  and  Barberinis ;  and 
their  profound  humility  in  walking,  when  they  might  have  rid- 
den, and  in  keeping  company  with  common  Christians,  so  un- 
like themselves,  was  greatly  admired  and  created  a  sensation 
among  the  plebeian  Romans  who  had  crowded  together  to  see 
the  spectacle.  The  surroundings  of  these  women  set  them 
off  to  advantage — any  woman  with  a  possibility  of  comeliness 
would  have  looked  well,  under  the  circumstances.  Many  of 
the  noblesse  looked  and  were  handsome,  with  their  large, 
lustrous  eyes,  their  dark  hair,  their  rich  olive  complexions, 
and  their  warm,  graceful  mouths.  It  would  have  been  strange 
indeed  if  the  generations  of  ease  and  luxury  behind  them  and 
their  opportunities  for  culture  and  elegance  had  not  resulted 
to  their  esthetic  advantage.  The  fair  women  marched  slowly 
on,  amid  the  chant,  the  music  of  the  accompanying  bands, 
the  tolling  of  the  bells,  the  comments  of  the  throng ;  and  be- 
hind them  more  gilded  coaches  of  church  and  state,  and  the 
pageant  was  at  an  end.  Up  the  steps  of  the  church  the  pro- 
cession moved,  and  its  varied  colors  and  waving  torches  lent 
a  certain  degree  of  picturesqueness  to  the  gathering  dusk  that 
even  the  meaninglessness  of  the  occasion  could  not  destroy. 

As  I  sat  in  the  carriage,  in  the  deliciously  soft  air,  the  bells 


MARBLE  1KN0  CENTS.  471 

making  the  evening  mournful,  watching  the  pretentious  pa- 
geant that  seemed  to  me  so  empty,  and  the  Roman  crowd  of 
grown-up  children,  who  were  so  delighted  with  the  spectacle, 
and  as  I  glanced  at  the  Temple  of  Peace  before  and  the  Co- 
liseum behind  me,  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  fitting  it  is 
that  the  center  of  the  Catholic  Church  should  be  where  the 
seat  of  the  old  paganism  was,  where  the  sweetest  air  of  the 
Campagna  is  loaded  with  the  breath  of  pestilence,  and  where 
for  centuries  art  and  superstition  have  been  cherished,  and  so 
interwoven  that  we  are  almost  forced  to  admire  one  through 
the  other. 

I  watched  the  procession  as  it  lingered  on  the  portico  of 
the  church;  I  looked  again  and  again  at  the  ancient  ruins; 
I  observed  the  awe-inspired  faces  of  the  Italian  crowd ;  I 
glanced  at  the  solemn  mummery  of  the  pageant ;  and,  with 
the  memory  of  old  and  new  Rome,  the  heathen  empire  and 
the  Papal  States,  I  rejoiced,  after  all,  that  I  was  a  heretic,  and 
that  there  was  no  danger  of  my  canonization. 

The  Vatican,  Capitol,  and  Villa  Albani,  are  rich  in  marbles, 
and  I  admire  them.  I  should  admire  them  more  if  they  had 
been  more  favored  with  arms  and  ears  and  chins  and  noses. 
One  would  imagine  the  statues  had  been  saints  from  their 
treatment.  They  have  been  very  roughly  handled,  and  very 
unjustly.  I  don't  think  that  to  be  a  statue  is  such  a  sin  as  to 
require  maiming  and  even  decapitation.  The  old  fellows  in 
marble  lead  very  blameless  lives.  They  don't  swear  or  get 
drunk.  They  don't  borrow  your  money ;  they  don't  write  for 
the  newspapers,  or  even  run  for  Congress.  They  might  be 
a  little  cleaner,  but  they  are  adopted  Italians,  and  it  is  not 
the  custom  of  the  country  to  wash. 

How  were  the  figures  deprived  of  so  much  of  their  original 
selves  ?  From  their  severe  habits  of  reflection  they  must  have 
got  lost  in  thought,  and  many  of  their  members  been  unable 
to  find  their  way  back.  Possibly  in  the  antique  days  the  men 
and  women  were  choleric,  and  in  their  quarrels  pulled  each 
other's  noses  until  they  pulled  them  off,  and  bit  off  ears,  too. 
For  their  armless  condition  I  can  only  account  by  the  suppo- 


472 


INCOMPLETE  STATUES  ACCOUNTED  FOR. 


sition  that,  being  distinguished  characters,  and  contemplating 
a  visit  to  America,  they  removed  their  arms,  either  because 
they  believed  it  unlawful  to  bear  arms  in  this  country,  or  be- 
cause they  were  aware  of  the  national  custom  of  hand-shaking, 
and  wished  to  provide  themselves  against  it. 

Who  made  all  these  statues,  and  how  they  were  made,  has 
long  been  a  question.  Sculpture,  after  the  manner  of  the  an- 
cients, is  a  lost  art.  I  have  a  theory  on  the  subject.  The 
marble-cutters  did  their  work  separately.  One  made  arms, 
one  legs,  one  noses,  another  ears,  and  so  on.  The  fellows 
who  did  the  small  work  were  far  lazier  than  those  who  carved 
the  larger  parts,  like  thighs,  heads,  and  trunks.  The  conse- 
quence was  noses,  ears,  fingers,  and  chins  were  short,  and  the 
proper  supply  could  not  be  obtained.  This  accounts  for  the 
appearance  of  the  statues.  They  are  not  broken ;  they  are 
simply  incomplete.  Modern  artists  have  done  their  best  to 
supply  the  defect,  and  in  due  season  they  will  succeed.  The 
Venuses  and  Cupids  and 
Psyches  are  being  restored, 
and  will  soon  be  presenta- 
ble. 

One  of  the  finest  mar- 
bles in  the  Vatican  is  the 
torso  of  Hercules.  I  like 
it,  but  my  liking  would  be 
increased  if  there  were 
more  of  it.  A  breast  and 
abdomen,  with  an  abbre- 
viated pair  of  thighs,  may 
be  sufficient  for  art,  but 
would  be  found  very  in- 
convenient in  nature.  I  am  acquainted  with  persons  who 
would  not  be  half  so  enthusiastic  about  the  famous  marble  if 
it  were  entire. 

In  the  Vatican  are  the  world-famous  Laccoon  and  the 
Apollo.  The  former  is  a  masterpiece  of  sculptured  expres- 
sion, and  the  latter  indeed  an  ideal  in  marble.     I   should 


THE    VATICAN. 


OLD  PAINTINGS.  473 

never  tire  of  looking  at  the  carved  god ;  should  never  be  quite 
persuaded  he  would  not  reveal  to  me  the  mysterious  blisses 
of  Olympus. 

A  statue  I  shall  not  forget  is  the  Venus  of  the  Capitol.  She 
is  in  a  reserved  cabinet,  but  becomes  visible  for  a  paul  or  two 
given  to  the  custode.  I  don't  know  why  she  is  shut  up,  for 
she  is  assuredly  undressed  enough  to  appear  in  society. 

The  Capitoline  Venus  looks  as  if  she  were  a  trifle  unhappy ; 
but  whether  it  is  because  she  can't  talk,  or  because  she  has 
no  man  to  buy  clothes  for  her,  I  have  not  determined.  Poor, 
dear  girl,  it  is  too  bad  that  she  should  be  shut  up  there  all 
day  and  all  night,  with  no  one  to  tell  her  how  charming 
she  is. 

The  popular  belief  is  that  Rome,  and,  indeed,  all  Italy,  is 
full  of  fine  pictures.  Good  paintings,  however,  are  very  scarce 
everywhere.  The  old  masters  seemed  inspired,  sometimes, 
and  at  others  did  very  inferior  work.  Because  a  painting  is 
by  Raffaele  or  Domenichino,  Tiziano  or  Correggio,  Guido  or 
Murrillo  it  does  not  follow  it  is  excellent.  Any  such  paint- 
ings will  bring  a  fabulous  price  on  account  of  the  reputation 
of  the  artist,  which  merely  proves  want  of  taste  on  the  part 
of  those  who  claim  to  be  connoisseurs. 

Raffaelle,  the  prince  of  painters,  frequently  failed,  in  my 
judgment,  both  with  his  pencil  and  his  brush.  Some  of  his 
Virgins,  immortal  though  they  are  called,  have  little  merit. 
Not  one  of  them  is  more  than  a  decidedly  pretty  woman. 
They  lack  spirituality,  strength,  and  depth  of  tone ;  and  even 
the  Madonna  da  Foligno,  regarded  as  one  of  the  greatest 
paintings  known,  has  numerous  defects. 

Sassoferrato's  "Virgin  and  Child,"  in  the  Vatican,  though 
it  has  little  reputation,  looks  more  divine  than  any  similar 
picture  in  tbe  collection.  Perugino,  Raffaelle's  master,  and 
famed  from  sea  to  sea,  never  did  any  work  I  should  care  to 
have.  His  figures  are  thin  and  flat,  and  remind  me  of  deco- 
rations on  tea  chests. 

Raffaelle's  "Transfiguration,"  Domenichino's  "Commun- 
ion of  St.  Jerome,"  and  a  few  other  pictures  in  the  Vatican 
are,  as  generations  have  agreed,  marvels  of  art. 


i 


474 


SPLENDID  TEMPLES. 


The  churches  of  Rome  are  said  to  be  over  three  hundred 
in  number,  and  yet  the  population  of  the  city  is  less  than  two 
hundred  thousand.  Service  is  not  held  at  all  in  some  of  the 
churches,  and  in  none  is  the  attendance  large  ordinarily.  At 
St.  Paul's,  the  fourth  largest  church  in  the  world,  there  is  no 
mass  save  on  special  occasions.  The  building  is  beyond  the 
walls  in  a  very  unhealthy  position,  and  is  visited  during  the 
summer  only  by  tourists.  It  is  very  rich  in  marbles,  and  is 
reputed  to  have  cost  over  thirty  millions  of  dollars.  The 
Roman  churches  must  be  worth,  or  at  least  the  sum  expended 
on  them,  must  have  been  hundreds  of  millions.  What  an 
incalculable  amount  of  good  might  be  done  with  such  a  sum! 

Though  almost  everybody  is  disappointed  in  St.  Peter's  at 
first,  it  so  grows  upon  you,  as  you  examine  it  at  leisure,  and 
regard  it  comparatively,  that  you  soon  feel  its  vastness,  and 
are  impressed  by  its  grandeur.  If  Angelo's  plan  had  been 
carried  out,  the  Church  would  have  been  an  architectural 
glory.  To  tell  any  one,  as  the  guides  do,  that  it  is  613  feet 
long,  the  nave  152  feet  high,  the  length  of  the  transepts  445 
feet,  and  the  height  of  the 
cross  405,  or,  as  some  in- 
sist, 448  feet,  gives  you  no 
idea  of  its  proportions.  You 
get  them  best  by  mounting 
to  the  lantern. 

In  the  portico  of  the 
Pantheon  I  flattered  my- 
self I  had  discovered  some 
defect  after  devoting  sev- 
eral hours  to  it  from  a  fan- 
cied favorable  point  of 
view  ;  but  I  afterward  had 
the  mortification  to  see  the  fault  was  in  my  position.  The 
fact  that  Raffaelle  is  buried  in  the  ancient  temple  draws  many- 
strangers  to  it.  When  the  deforming  belfries  are  torn 
down,  the  facade  of  the  Pantheon  can  hardly  be  improved. 
The  first  time  I  went  to   Rome  I  hurried  off  to  the  Coli- 


ST.    PETER  S    AT    ROME. 


TEE  POPE'S  APPEARANCE. 


47,3 


seum  as  if,  after  staying  on  the  same  spot  for  nearly  two 
thousand  years,  it  would  disappear  before  I  got  there.  Yast 
as  it  is,  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  how  it  could 
have  seated,  as  has  been  claimed,  87,000  spectators.  The 
story  is  about  as  truthful,  I  suspect,  as  the  one  which  says 
that  when  Titus  died  5,000  wild  beasts  and  10,000  cap- 
tives were  slain.  The  ancient  amphitheater  should  be 
visited  at  moonlight  to  be  seen  to  the  best  advantage.  Then 
the  imagination  has  play,  and  the  night  helps  the  classic  as- 
sociations wonderfully.  The  traditions  of  the  martyrdom  of 
the  early  Christians  are  absurdly  exaggerated.  Instead  of 
thousands,  competent  authorities  declare  less  than  one  hund- 
red perished  in  the  arena.  The  Catholic  Church,  however, 
has  always  been  only  too  willing  to  help  its  cause  with  pious 
frauds  of  a  very  transparent  sort. 

When  I  was  last  in  Rome  Pio  Nono  was  seriously  disliked 
out  of  the  Papal  States — not  as  an  individual,  but  as  a  tem- 
poral prince.  Then  his  spiritual  authority  was  on  the  wane 
with  the  Italians,  who  are  growing  skeptical,  and  complain 
that  the  gates  of  the  Roman  Heaven  open  too  often  at  the 
clinking  of  gold.  The  theological  change  in  Italy  during  the 
past  ten  years  is  very  remarkable.  Implicit  faith  and  blind 
submission  is  no  longer  received «  by  the  people.  They  have 
begun  to  reason,  and  the  vast  Vatican  dwindles  before  logic. 

The  Pope  himself  is  an 
amiable,  pleasing,  well-bred 
gentleman,  who  is  said  to 
be  much  more  liberal  than 
his  Cardinals,  but  has  not 
the  courage  to  do  what  they 
oppose.  In  Rome  every 
one  likes  him,  for  he  makes 
a  study  of  manners,  and  is 
anxious  to  conciliate  all 
who  approach  him.  He 
closely  resembles  his  por- 
traits. He  is  a  fleshy, 
white-haired,     round-faced,       pope  blessing  the  populace. 


47 G  ABSURD  INCONSISTENCIES. 

dark-eyed  old  man,  with  an  expression  of  humor  that  often 
flashes  out  in  conversation,  and  contributes  much  to  his  sleek 
and  well-fed  appearance.  He  is  extremely  earnest  and  zeal- 
ous in  and  for  his  creed,  and  conscientiously  believes  the  sole 
salvation  of  the  world  is  through  the  universal  establishment 
of  his  prosletyzing  Church. 

Pio  looks  forward,  I  understand,  with  great  hope  to  Amer- 
ica as  the  land  where  Romanism  will  have  its  widest  diffu- 
sion, and  where  the  sanctuary  of  St.  Peter  will  be  most  se- 
cure. For  a  man  not  very  strong,  naturally  amiable,  and 
fond  of  peace,  the  Pope  has  had  a  stormy  and  unwelcome 
reign. 

The  religious  authorities  were  very  broad  about  some 
things  and  very  squeamish  in  others.  They  made  no  objec- 
tion to  the  most  seductive  Sunday  evening  ballet.  The  bal- 
lerine  don't  dance  very  well,  but  they  have  excellent  figures, 
The  Roman  girls  have  very  good  eyes,  and  when  their  faces 
are  lighted  up  with  excitement  they  look  temptingly  wicked. 
Their  gestures  and  poses  are  highly  objectionable  ;  and  yet 
they  are  admitted  and  applauded  by  the  best  women  in  Rome, 
who  would  be  shocked  at  the  smallest  immodesty  off  the 
stage.  The  ballet  is  the  favorite  amusement  of  the  Romans, 
and  superior  to  their  opera. 

The  pope  makes  strange  regulations  respecting  the  opera. 
For  instance,  he  has  interdicted   the   use    of  the 
words  "  cross"  and  "  Devil,"  and  neither  one  nor 
the  other  is  introduced  on   the  stage  orally  or  in 
semblance.     In  "  Faust"  Mephistopheles  appears 
as  an  apothecary,  aud  his  speeches  are  altered  very 
grotesquely.  The  operaof  "  Lucrezia  Borgia"  can- 
not be  represented  under  that  title,  because  her 
father,  Alexander  VI.,  happened  to  be   an   occu- 
pant   of    the    pontificial    chair.     Her   name    is 
changed  to  Luisa  di  Lucca,  and  as  such  she  poi- 
pope's  hat.  sons  an(j  murders  to  her  heart's  content,  without 
causing  scandal  to  the  Church.     Alexander  is  generally  be- 
lieved to  have  been  one   of  the  greatest  villains  of  his  time, 


TEE  EOMES    OF   THE  DEAD.  477 

and  villians  were  abundant  in  those  days  ;  but  any  one  who 
deems  the  Borgia  infamous  .should  read  his  life,  as  given  ec- 
clesiastically, to  ascertain  what  a  precious  saint  he  was. 

The  Catacombs  I  went  into  and  found  they  amounted  to 
very  little.  They  are  all  without  the  walls,  sixty  in  number, 
and  contain  over  sixty  millions  of  bodies.  From  St.  Sebas- 
tian nearly  all  the  bones  have  been  removed  ;  but  the  others 
abound  in  tombs  and  skeletons.  The  Catacombs  have  been 
but  partially  explored.  When  they  are  fully,  relics  enough 
will  be  found  for  a  thousand  new  churches.  The  Catacombs 
are  only  holes  in  the  ground,  with  various  ramifications, 
chambers,  and  galleries,  in  which  a  man  could  lose  himself 
without  difficulty.  Loculi  or  graves  were  dug  in  the  walls  of 
tufa,  and  bodies  of  all  sizes  deposited  there,  one  above  the 
other.  The  Catacombs  furnished  a  very  good  place  for  sepul- 
ture, and  might  still  be  used  to  advantage.  The  walls  have 
numerous  inscriptions  of  a  religious  character,  crude  and 
often  unintelligible,  scratched  in  the  tufa  by  friends  of  the  de- 
ceased. These  burial  places  are  probably  eighteen  hundred 
years  old,  and  were  for  centuries  the  public  cemeteries,  inter- 
ment within  the  walls  being  forbidden.  A  number  of  martyrs 
and  early  Popes  were  deposited  there,  making  the  Catacombs 
objects  of  special  interest  and  religious  devotion  to  the  early 
Christians.  Various  chapels  were  erected,  and  remain  there 
still.  It  is  supposed  the  Christians  concealed  themselves  in 
the  Catacombs  during  their  persecution.  Hawthorne,  in  his 
"  Marble  Faun,"  gives  them  new  interest  by  making  them 
the  theater  of  some  of  his  most  impressive  scenes. 

When  I  entered  St.  Sebastian  one  day,  with  a  monk  as 
guide,  both  of  us  carrying  lighted  tapers,  the  place  presented 
few  inducements  for  residence  of  a  permanent  character,  un- 
less one  should  happen  to  have  his  breath  permanently 
stopped.     Then  it  would  make  very  little  difference. 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

NAPLES. 

•  ifi/*^  T  is  common  to  say  that  Naples  is  not  Italy, 
and  the  Neapolitans  not  Italians.  They  seem  to 
me  Italians  intensified,  reproducing  all  the  pecu- 
liarities of  their  nation.  The  Neapolitans  boast  of 
the  Toledo  as  one  of  the  finest  streets  on  the  Con- 
tinent; but  there  is  very  little  of  it.  It  is  not  more 
than  a  mile  and  a  quarter  long,  rather  narrow,  and 
made  to  appear  narrower  by  the  height  of  the  houses.  Few 
of  the  buildings  are  either  handsome  or  imposing,  and  clean- 
liness is  often  sought  in  vain.  Many  of  the  shops  make  elab- 
orate displays,  and,  after  dark,  lend  a  certain  brilliancy  to 
the  street. 

The  Toledo  is  the  favorite  promenade,  and,  Sunday  morn- 
ing, and  from  sunset  to  9  o'clock,  any  day,  it  is  full  of  ele- 
gantly-dressed men  and  women  and  handsome  turnouts.  The 
carriages  there,  as  throughout  Italy,  are  open,  and  give  a  full 
view  of  the  riders,  producing  a  much  better  effect  than  do  our 
close  vehicles.  Many  of  the  women  dispense  with  hats,  and, 
as  they  have  fine  hair,  very  largely  their  own,  they  are 
improved  by  their  bonnetless  condition.  In  no  city  in  Italy 
does  one  see  anything  like  the  number  of  carriages  he  sees  in 
Naples.  Their  rolling,  with  their  merry  occupants,  in  one 
continuous  line,  along  the  Chiaja,  the  Toledo,  and  about  the 
bay,  lends  a  semblance  of  gayety  to  Naples  that  reminds  one 
of  Paris  or  Vienna. 

Naples  is,  unquestionably,  the  most  lively  city  in  Italy,  and 
much  the  largest.     Of  late  years  its  population  has  increased 


NEAPOLITAN  JEWELR Y.  479 

so  rapidly,  that  it  is  now  called  eight  or  nine  hundred  thou- 
sand, which  must  be  an  exaggeration.  I  presume  seven  hund- 
red thousand  would  be  much  nearer  the  truth ;  but  even  this  is 
remarkable,  for  it  shows  an  increase  of  nearly  three  hundred 
thousand  in  ten  years.  Naples  has  a  large  and  growing  com- 
merce, considerable  manufacturing  interests,  and  an  excellent 
local  trade. 

Its  jewelry,  especially  its  corals,  is  deservedly  celebrated, 
and  the  annual  sales  are  very  large.  Of  course  Americans 
are  the  freest  and  most  generous  buyers,  and  are  universally 
regarded  as  the  most  desirable  patrons.  I  can  conceive  what 
a  temptation  the  shops  of  the  Toledo  must  be  to  a  wife  who 
has  a  full  purse  and  a  liberal  husband.  Gold  and  coral  and 
jewels  are  there  exposed  in  such  fascinating  forms  that  the 
feminine  eye  must  make  the  extravagant  hand.  She  who 
would  not  peril  her  tyrant's  bank  account  while  gazing  at  the 
treasury  of  pretty  things,  is  indeed  a  model  of  prudence. 
Jewelry  is  not  so  very  cheap  as  many  suppose,  though  it  can 
be  bought  for  about  30  to  40  per  cent,  less  than  in  the  United 
States. 

The  Villa  Reale  is  the  name  given  to  the  public  garden 
skirting  the  western  part  of  the  bay,  which  makes  that  quarter 
of  the  town  very  pleasant.  It  is  handsomely  laid  out  with 
walks,  and  flower-beds,  and  fountains.  Every  evening  music 
in  the  villa  by  one  of  the  regimental  bands,  attracts  a  crowd 
of  persons  who  sit  in  and  before  the  cafes,  drinking,  smoking, 
talking,  and  often  flirting  to  the  various  airs  performed.  The 
scene  recalls  Paris. 

The  bay,  like  everything  famous,  is,  at  first,  disappointing. 
Still  it  is  beautiful,  and  you  find  that  its  blue  symmetry  gains 
upon  you  as  you  grow  acquainted  with  it.  It  is  difficult  to 
get  a  complete  view  of  the  bay  from  any  part  of  the  town  ; 
but  when  you  go  out  upon  it,  or  ascend  Vesuvius,  or  sail  off 
to  Ischia  or  Capri,  you  behold  it  in  all  its  picturesqueness. 
The  heights  of  the  city,  Mount  Somma,  Vesuvius,  the  pecu- 
liar bend  of  the  land,  Procida,  Pozzuoli,  and  Sorrento,  all 
make  the  bay  a  pure  poem  of  the  sea.     It  looks  like  a  vast 


480  SAD  FATE  OF  AN  ARCHITECT. 

turquoise  set  in  the  golden  sunshine  and  crowning  the  larger 
jewel  of  the'  Mediterranean.  I  tried  to  feel  indifferent  to  the 
bay ;  but  it  conquered  me  with  its  loveliness,  and  I  lay  my 
slender  garland  of  admiration  at  its  graceful  feet. 

When  sailing  down  to  Sorrento  in  a  fisherman's  boat  one 
day,  the  dreamy  lines  of  Buchanan  Read's  poem  ran  like  a 
musical  rivulet  through  my  memory.     I  heard  the  waves  say : 

With  dreamy  eyes 

My  spirit  lies 

Under  the  walls  of  Paradise  ; 

and  so  every  breeze  murmured  along  and  over  the  enchanting 
water. 

By  the  by,  Read  told  me  in  Rome  that  when  he  composed 
"  Driftings"  he  had  never  been  in  Naples,  and  that  if  he  had 
been  he  could  not  have  written  the  poem,  because  actual  ob- 
servation changed  his  ideal  of  the  charming  bay.  It  seems 
there  are  advantages  sometimes  in  describing  what  you  have 
not  seen  except  with  the  mind's  eye. 

Of  the  eight  theatres,  of  course  the  renowned  San  Carlo 
stands  at  the  head.  It  adjoins  the  Royal  Palace,  near  the 
Largo  del  Castello  (the  Neapolitans  use  Largo  for  Piazza) 
and  is  one  of  the  largest  opera  houses  in  Europe.  It  has  six 
tiers  of  boxes — one  hundred  and  ninety-two  in  all — with  a 
large  parquette,  and  will  hold  five  thousand  persons.  It  is 
heavily  gilded,  but  looks  somewhat  dingy,  and  its  interior  is 
neither  attractive  nor  striking. 

Charles  III.  ordered  its  erection,  and  its  architect,  Angelo 
Carasale  had  a  sad  death  on  account  of  it.  He  delighted  the 
King  in  constructing  it,  but,  being  unable  to  explain  some  of 
his  accounts  satisfactorily,  he  was  thrown  into  St.  Elmo 
where  he  died  after  five  or  six  years  of  confinement.  His 
royal  master,  though  he  knew  the  architect  to  be  poor  and 
deserving,  permitted  the  poor  fellow  to  perish  by  inches,  never 
interesting  himself  in  the  smallest  degree  in  his  fate. 

San  Carlo  has  heard  the  notes  of  the  most  famous  singers 
of  several  generations,  and  a  number  of  renowned  operas, 
such  as  Lucia,  Somnambula,  MosS,  Giuramento,  and  others 
were  first  given  within  its  walls. 


LICENTIOUSNESS  OF  THE  CITY.  481 

Pulchinella,  which  has  its  headquarters  in  the  San  Carlino, 
is  the  characteristic  amusement  of  Naples,  and  is  given  twice 
a  day  at  some  of  the  theatres.  It  is  merely  a  species  of  low 
comedy,  a  burlesque  in  the  Neapolitan  dialect,  in  which  local 
hits,  satirical  humor  and  coarse  jests  are  discharged  at  every- 
body and  everything.  The  people  relish  the  licentious  enter- 
tainment greatly,  and  crowd  the  houses  where  Pulchinella  is 
the  autocrat.  I  have  attended  the  unique  performance,  but 
as  I  do  not  understand  Italian  in  its  supreme  impurity,  many 
of  the  jokes  were  as  imperceptible  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  a 
German. 

The  Museo  Nazionale  is  the  British  Museum  of  Italy,  and 
an  excellent  collection,  where  the  stranger  can  spend  many 
days  with  profit.  The  frescoes  and  inscriptions  from  Hercu- 
laneum  and  Pompeii  are  interesting  to  the  archaeologist;  but 
I  have  been  surfeited  with  them.  The  marbles  are  interesting ; 
but  few  are  remarkable  as  works  of  art.  The  Aristides  which 
has  been  so  much  praised  is  probably  somebody  else,  and  the 
Psyche,  universally  extolled  for  its  loveliness,  appears  insipid. 
The  fact  that  she  has  lost  the  top  of  her  head,  and  her  arms, 
also,  does  not,  in  my  mind,  add  to  her  beauty. 

The  Venuses,  on  account  of  an  absurd  squeamishness,  used 
to  be  shut  up ;  but  now  they  are  again  on  exhibition.  If  they 
were  withdrawn  because  of  their  bad  looks,  it  was  well ;  but 
no  fear  need  be  felt  that  such  ill-formed  creatures  would  pro- 
duce a  sinful  thought.  I  don't  believe  any  living  woman 
would  be  so  reckless  of  clothes  if  she  had  such  a  bad  figure 
as  those  marble  divinities. 

The  collection  of  bronze  statues,  the  largest  in  the  world, 
is  mainly  from  the  cities  buried  under  Vesuvius.  The  Etrus- 
can vases  are  curious,  but  too  numerous  to  examine.  The 
coins,  ancient  chains,  ornaments  and  weapons,  are  very  valua- 
ble to  any  one  whose  time  is  not  so. 

The  better  class  of  Neapolitans  are  very  fond  of  display,  and 
the  poorest  seem  ambitious  of  arranging  their  dirt  and  rags 
in  fantastic  form.  The  women,  as  a  rule,  are  extraordinarily 
vain,  and  to  their  determination  to  be  admired  in  some  way 


482  SURROUNDINGS  OF  THE  CITY. 

may  be  largely  asscribed  the  extreme  licentiousness  of  the 
town,  which  cannot  escape  the  attention  of  any  one  remaining 
there  for  any  length  of  time.  The  terraces  of  the  city,  and 
the  flat  roofs  of  the  houses,  adorned  with  shrubs  and  flowers, 
and  serving  as  promenades,  give  it  a  unique  and  picturesque 
appearance  irrespective  of  its  superb  situation.  Its  three 
hundred  churches  are  not  sufficient  to  sober  or  restrain  the 
recklessly  giddy  and  gay  people,  nor  to  render  any  great  num- 
ber of  them  regardful  of  the  conventional  forms  of  modest 
behavior.  For  ages  it  has  been  the  chosen  seat  of  pleasure  ; 
it  was  such  when  as  Parthenope  it  was  more  Greek  than  Ro- 
man, and  when  Nero  selected  it  as  the  place  for  his  theatrical 
de*but. 

The  surroundings  of  Naples  are  far  more  attractive  than 
the  city.  Torrento,  the  birth  place  of  Tasso,  has  been  called  the 
finest  spot  of  earth,  and  in  the  autumn  or  early  in  May  it  is 
indeed  delightful.  The  Green  and  Blue  Grottos  are  curious  ; 
Pozzuoli,  Baiae,  Cumae,  and  other  neighboring  localities  are 
very  interesting  from  their  historic  and  classic  associations, 
and  Paestum,  with  its  ruined  temples,  stimulates  memory  and 
imagination  like  Baalbec  and  Thebes. 

It  does  not  seem  generally  known  that  a  third  city,  Stabiae, 
was  destroyed  by  the  same  eruption  of  Vesuvius  (A.  D.  79), 
Which  put  an  end  to  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  It  was  at 
Stabiae  the  elder  Pliny  lost  his  life,  having  been  suffocated  by 
the  sulphurous  vapors  of  the  volcano.  As  he  is  said  to  have 
had  weak  lungs,  it  is  not  strange  that  he  perished  ;  for  if  I 
had  had  any  pulmonary  affection  when  I  went  up  to  the 
crater,  I  am  confident  I  never  should  have  gone  down. 

Stabiae  had  bad  luck.  That  eminent  swash-buckler, 
Sylla,  knocked  the  town  to  pieces  during  the  civil  war,  and 
Vesuvius  compelled  it  to  put  on  sack-cloth  and  ashes  many 
years  after.  Castellammare,  the  well-known  summer  resort, 
now  stands  on  the  sight  of  Stabiae,  whose  excavations,  not 
having  promised  well,  were  filled  up  soon  after  they  were 
begun. 

The  popular  idea  that  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii  were  de- 


POMPEII.  483 

stroyed,  with  nearly  the  whole  population,  is  entirely  erro- 
neous. Both  the  cities  did  not  contain,  probably,  over  sixty 
or  seventy  thousand  inhabitants,  and  out  of  that  number  not 
more  than  two  or  three  hundred  lost  their  lives.  All  the 
skeletons  found  have  been,  I  think,  less  than  ninety.  The 
gods  seem  to  have  been  on  ill-terms  with  Pompeii ;  for  they 
were  constantly  sending  convulsions  of  nature  to  destroy  it. 
But  let  me  examine  my  theology.  We  have  it  on  the  best 
authority  that  Heaven  chastiseth  what  it  loves.  The  gods, 
therefore,  must  have  been  madly  fond  of  Pompeii,  and  proved 
their  fondness  by  favoring  it  with  earthquakes,  volcanic  erup- 
tions, bloody  wars,  and  other  blessings  is  disguise. 

The  citizens  of  Pompeii  had  just  been  enjoying  one  of  their 
periodically  pleasant  earthquakes,  and  were  employed  in  re- 
building some  of  the  shaken-down  houses,  when  Vesuvius  paid 
its  respects  by  overwhelming  them  with  a  shower  of  scoria?, 
ashes,  and  pummice.  They  lost  their  patience  at  this  new 
manifestation  of  celestial  favor — regarding  it  as  rather  too 
much  of  a  good  thing — and  quitted  the  town  in  such  precipi- 
tate disgust  that  some  of  the  poor  fellows  left  their  skeletons 
behind  them. 

It  is  very  remarkable  that,  though  Pompeii  was  a  well- 
known  city — Cicero,  Claudius,  Drusus,  and  Seneca,  having 
lived  there — its  disappearance  was  not  observed  nor  its  burial- 
place  discovered  until  a  little  over  a  century  ago.  The  upper 
wall  of  the  great  theatre  was  never  even  covered  up,  and  yet 
for  seventeen  centuries  nobody  thought  of  making  excava- 
tions. 

The  story  is  that  a  rustic,  in  digging  a  well,  discovered  a 
painted  chamber  containing  several  statues,  and  that  his  dis- 
covery first  awakened  an  interest  in  the  Pompeiian  sepulture. 
The  excavations  are  still  prosecuted,  but  so  very  slowly  that 
it  is  believed  they  will  not  be  finished  until  some  time  after 
the  Day  of  Judgment. 

Much  has  been  said  of  the  luxury  of  the  people  of  Pompeii, 
and  some  pious  souls  have  thought  they  were  destroyed  be- 
cause they  were  extremely  sensual.     The  Pompeiians  could 


484  LIFE  OF  THE  rOMPEHANS. 

not  have  been  luxurious  in  the  sense  in  which  we  understand 
luxury.  They  had  some  good  statues,  mosaics,  and  frescoes ; 
but  their  houses  were  small  and  generally  unattractive.  The 
people  appear  to  have  lived  out  of  doors  almost  entirely.  Nor 
am  I  surprised,  considering  what  little  and  uncomfortable 
rooms  they  had.  Their  streets  were  very  narrow  and  much 
traveled,  as  the  deep  wheel-ruts  show. 

The  wine  trade  must  have  been  the  principal  one,  for  every 
third  or  fourth  shop  was  kept  by  a  wine  merchant.  I  made 
a  calculation  one  morning  while  there,  and  concluded  from 
the  estimated  population  and  the  number  of  wine  shops,  that 
each  citizen  must  have  drank  at  least  a  gallon  a  day. 

The  private  dwellings  seem  to  have  been  divided  into  two 
parts — public  and  private.  In  the  former  were  the  open  space 
known  as  the  area,  the  porch,  the  vestibule,  the  porter's  lodge, 
and  the  hall  where  the  patricians  received  their  clients.  The 
private  part  of  the  dwellings  contained  the  open  court  called 
the  peristyle,  the  dining-room  (trichinium),  the  sitting- 
room,  the  parlor,  the  library,  the  bath,  and  the  bed-chamber. 
The  women  appear  to  have  been  kept  apart  from  the  men, 
and  their  apartments  to  have  been  a  sort  of  harem,  visited  by 
the  masculine  tyrants  only  upon  especial  occasions.  The 
roofs  of  the  houses  were  flat,  and  so  covered  with  vines  and 
flowers  as  to  form  a  pleasant  promenade. 

The  Pompeiians  appear  to  have  had  no  stables,  no  litera- 
ture of  consequence,  and  no  poor  people,  judging  from  the 
discoveries  thus  far  made.  On  the  whole,  they  must  have 
had  a  very  uncomfortable  domestic  life ;  for  the  dwellings  of 
Sallust  and  Diomedes,  two  of  the  most  pretentious,  are  more 
like  tombs  than  houses.  We  Americans  would  not  occupy 
such  places  for  any  consideration.  They  must  have  been 
dark,  damp,  and  in  every  way  disagreeable.  I  should  suppose 
the  luxuries  of  the  Romans  would  have  been  rheumatism,  con- 
sumption, and  sciatica,  dwelling  under  such  peculiar  roofs. 

The  people  of  Pompeii  were  artistic  beyond  question,  but  I 
am  afraid  their  morals  were  not  what  they  should  have  been. 
Some  of  the  houses  (evidently  of  a  peculiar  class)  in  the  un- 


THE  A  MP  M  THE  A  TRE.  485 

covered  city  are  ornamented  externally  and  internally  with 
pictures  and  symbols  that  are  revoltingly  obscene.  Many  of 
the  precious  works  of  art  have  been  removed  to  the  Museo 
Borbonico,  now  Nazionale,  where  the  curious  can  see  them  any 
day.  They  are  singular  instances  of  the  extreme  coarseness 
lurking  behind  culture  and  assumed  refinement,  and  indicate 
that  the  bestial  excesses  of  Caligula,  Commodus,  and  Galie- 
nus,  were  very  Roman  after  all.  The  house  of  the  Vestals, 
in  one  of  the  streets,  has  mosaics  and  decorations  very  far 
from  vestal  in  character,  and  revealing  too  plainly  that  the 
purity  of  the  Virgins  must  have  been  rather  imaginary  than 
actual.  I  am  forced  to  the  opinion  that  while  many  of  the 
Roman  Vestals  may  have  had  numerous  good  qualities,  chas- 
tity, either  of  thought  or  action,  was  not  among  them. 

The  Amphitheatre,  more  ancient  than  the  Coliseum  at 
Rome,  is  430  by  375  feet,  and  could  seat  10,000  persons.  It 
had  twenty-four  rows  of  seats,  each  row  being  occupied  by 
persons  of  different  rank.  The  magistrates  and  patricians 
were  carefully  separated  from  the  plebeians.  The  entrances 
at  the  end  of  the  arena  for  the  admission  of  wild  beasts  and 
gladiators  and  the  removal  of  the  slain  are  in  good  preserva- 
tion. It  is  said,  when  the  gladiators  asked  if  their  lives 
might  be  spared,  after  they  had  fought  bravely,  that  the  first 
among  the  spectators  who  turned  down  their  thumbs — the 
sign  of  refusal — were  the  Vestal  Virgins.  What  tender  and 
sensitive  ladies  they  must  have  been  !  The  amphitheatre  was 
crowded — according  to  some  of  the  historians — when  the 
eruption  of  Vesuvius  occurred,  and  not  one  of  the  persons  in 
the  audience  perished,  though  a  large  portion  might  have  done" 
so  without  loss  to  mankind. 

The  temples,  baths,  and  theatres,  are  interesting,  and  quite 
well  preserved.  The  temples  contain  the  altars  of  sacrifice, 
some  of  which  look  as  if  they  were  recently  carved.  In  two 
of  the  temples,  skeletons,  unquestionably  those  of  the  priests, 
were  found  with  their  sacrificial  knives  in  their  hands.  As 
they  were  doing,  or  thought  they  were  doing,  the  behests  of 
the  gods,  the  gods  should  have  provided  for  their  safety. 


486 


HERCULANEUM. 


The  stage  of  the  theatres  is  very  small  compared  to  that  of 
the  modern  time.  But  the  antique  drama  was  much  simpler 
than  ours.  It  had  very  few  scenes,  and  they  revolved  on  a 
pivot.  From  a  portion  of  the  tragic  theatre  a  fine  panoramic 
view  of  Pompeii  is  obtained,  which,  it  must  be  confessed, 
closely  resembles  the  combination  of  a  great  brickyard  and 
stone-cutter's  establishment  on  which  work  had  long  been 
suspended. 

Herculaneum,  you  remember,  was  destroyed  by  the  mud 
which  Vesuvius  threw  out  during  its  eruption.  Mud-throwing 
never  proves  destructive  in  this  country.  If  it  did,  half  the 
politicians  would  have  been  dead  long  ago.  For  fifty  years 
the  excavations  amounted  to  nothing,  on  account  of  the  stu- 
pidity of  the  persons  who  had  them  in  charge ;  but  of  late 
they  have  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  some  fine  statues,  now 
in  the  Museo.  Herculaneum  is  so  much  less  interesting  than 
Pompeii  that  it  is  not  worth  describing.  Temples,  villas, 
tombs,  and  prisons,  have  been,  and  are  still  being,  uncovered. 
Many  travelers  are  surprised  to  find  the  cities  open  to  the  sky, 
imagining  they  are  buried  now,  as  they  were  at  first,  and  that 
they  must  be  visited  with  torches. 

The  work  of  excavation  is  under  the  direction  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, which  appropriates  so  much  annually.  When  the 
sum  is  exhausted  the  work  stops.  You  pay  two  lires  or  francs 
for  each  admission  to  Herculaneum  or  Pompeii,  and  the 
guides  are  not  allowed  to  receive  any  additional  fees.  You 
can  go  to  either  town  by  rail,  and  get  through  with  both  in 
five  or  six  hours. 


CHAPTER    LXL 


CLIMBING    VESUVIUS. 


0  one  thinks  of  Naples  without  Vesuvius,  which 
in  all  pictures  of  the  city  is  represented  as  tow- 
ering above  everything  else  on  one  side  of  the 
crescent-shaped  bay.  Sending  forth  perpetual 
smoke  from  its  peak,  it  resembles  a  great  torch 
burning  over  the  town,  which  rests  quietly  in  the 
narrow  valley  below.  One  of  the  first  things  to 
do,  after  reaching  Naples,  is  to  make  the  ascent 
of  Vesuvius,  much  more  interesting  since  the  great  eruption 
of  1867  than  it  was  before.  You  can  go  up  from  the  Pom- 
peian  side,  as  it  is  called,  or  from  the  opposite  side,  there 
being  little  to  choose  between  the  two.  The  railway  will 
carry  you  to  either  of  the  starting  points,  whence  you  can 
ride  or  walk  to  the  base  of  the  volcano. 

Being  at  Pompeii,  my  only  difficulty  was  to  determine 
which  one  of  the  many  guides  I  should  select  to  accompany 
me. 

There  is  probably  no  place  in  the  world  where  a  traveler  or 
stranger  is  more  annoyed  by  guides,  hackmen,  and  all  sorts 
of  runners  and  agents,  than  in  and  about  Naples.  If  you  stop 
for  a  moment  in  the  Toledo,  or  any  other  principal  street,  you 
are  at  once  surrounded  by  them.  You  cannot  make  the  small- 
est purchase  or  the  most  trifling  engagement  with  less  than 
six  or  eight  of  the  tribe.  Anybody's  business  is  everybody's 
business  there ;  and  self-elected  agents,  assistants,  and  go- 
betweens  are  as  numerous  as  fleas  or  garlic  odors. 

So  it  was  in  making  an  arrangement  with  a  guide  for  Ve- 


488  A  COURAGEOUS  DONKEY. 

suvius.  From  three  to  twelve  ragged  men  and  boys  persisted 
in  acting  for  the  fellow  who  had  first  proposed  to  be  my  con- 
ductor. They  gesticulated  and  jabbered  in  wretched  Italian, 
and  thrust  themselves  between  me  and  the  guide.  I  flour- 
ished a  cane,  and  roared  out  a  few  phrases  in  German,  which 
they,  not  understanding,  fancied  to  be  terrible  threats,  and 
hurriedly  retreated.  At  last  I  secured  a  donkey,  and  made 
a  contract  with  the  guide  to  go  with  me  to  the  top  of  the  vol- 
cano for  twenty-five  francs  (five  dollars  in  our  money),  though 
I  had  no  idea  I  should  get  off  with  that  amount ;  and  I  did 
not  with  twice  as  much. 

My  beast  had  been  recommended  as  very  safe,  and  he  cer- 
tainly was  safe  as  respects  slowness  and  laziness.  A  braver 
donkey  never  lived :  he  would  have  died  rather  than  run  under 
any  circumstances.  But  he  and  I  and  the  guide  finally 
reached  the  base  of  the  mountain,  where  I  fancied,  from  the 
ascent,  I  should  be  unable  to  urge  my  animal  forward.  There 
we  encountered  a  new  lot  of  ragged  fellows  offering  their  ser- 
vices to  carry  me,  and  the  donkey,  too,  on  their  shoulders, 
and  to  do  everything  but  leave  me  alone. 

The  first  half  of  the  way  up  the  volcano  rises  gradually,  and 
is  easily  managed  by  a  horse  or  mule, — even  such  an  one  as 
mine  was.  The  native  loafers,  as  we  should  call  them  here, 
were  bent,  however,  on  assisting  my  beast,  since  they  could 
not  aid  me.  To  this  end,  they  seized  him  by  the  tail ;  kept 
twisting  it,  and  screaming  and  yelling  at  the  poor  creature 
until  I  felt  confident  he  would  be  frightened  into  something 
like  speed.  But  his  courage  was  unflinching :  he  crept  along 
with  all  the  calmness  of  a  snail.  I  tried  in  vain  to  get  rid  of 
the  pursuing  rabble  by  shouting  at  them,  and  "  cutting  be- 
hind," as  the  boys  call  it,  with  my  cane.  They  held  their 
purpose  and  the  tail,  however,  until  I  informed  them  that  I 
would  not  give  them  a  carlino  for  their  trouble.  That  had 
the  desired  effect.  They  at  once  fell  into  silence,  and  dropped 
behind. 

In  about  half  an  hour  my  companion  ^also  an  American), 
the  guide  and  myself  had  arrived  at  the  spot  where,  in  con- 


ASCENT  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES.  489 

sequence  of  the  steep  and  sudden  ascent,  it  became  necessary 
to  dismount.  Judge  of  my  surprise,  to  find  there  at  least  a 
dozen  of  the  same  troublesome  class  I  had  gotten  rid  of  at  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  as  I  had  fondly  hoped  for  that  day  at 
least.  These  urgent  Italians  had  poles  with  leather  straps 
attached,  and  wooden  chairs  or  litters,  with  which  they  are 
in  the  habit  of  aiding  or  carrying  persons  to  the  top,  who 
are  either  too  weak  or  too  indolent  to  climb  up  themselves. 
I  resolutely  declined  their  assistance,  and  my  companion  did 
also,  though  our  guide  declared  we  might  need  a  helping 
hand  before  we  reached  the  summit. 

We  set  out,  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  beggarly  crew  followed, 
constantly  offering  their  services,  and  stretching  out  their 
arms  to  catch  us  in  the  event  of  our  slipping  or  falling. 

The  walking  was  certainly  very  bad.  The  sides  of  the  vol- 
cano were  covered  with  ashes  and  powdered  fragments  of 
lava,  called  scoriae,  so  that  our  feet  slipped  every  step  we 
took,  and  sank  in  the  half  stony,  half  metallic  rubbish  several 
inches  above  our  ankles,  and  sometimes  nearly  to  our  knees. 
These  obstructions,  added  to  the  steepness,  made  the  climb- 
ing very  hard  and  tiresome.  The  afternoon  was  quite  warm, 
too — it  was  at  the  close  of  May — and  the  active  exercise  soon 
bathed  me  in  perspiration.  To  increase  the  unpleasantness, 
a  storm  gathered,  and,  though  only  a  few  drops  of  rain  fell,  a 
high  wind  blew  the  ashes  and  scorias  into  my  face,  almost 
blinding  me,  and  making  my  skin  smart  as  if  it  had  been 
pricked  with  needles. 

The  mountain  had  not  seemed  high  from  the  foot ;  and  I 
had  wondered  why  persons  had  complained  of  fatigue  in  going 
up.  I  discovered  for  myself  that  the  task  was  not  so  easy  as 
it  looked,  especially  as  I  went  back  at  least  one  step  for  every 
two  I  took  forward.  Each  time  I  slipped,  the  fellows  who 
kept  close  behind  made  an  effort  to  catch  hold  of  me,  and 
begged  for  permission  to  aid  me  in  the  ascent.  I  still  obsti- 
nately refused ;  but  my  companion  had  become  so  exhausted 
that  he  gladly  resigned  himself  to  their  care.  One  of  the 
Italians  having  fastened  the  leather  straps  of  a  pole  about  his 


490  NEW  FLAVORING  FOR  EGGS. 

neck,  the  tired  American — I  will  call  him  Alexander — caught 
hold  of  the  pole  with  both  hands.  A  second  Italian  went  be- 
fore the  first,  who  held  to  a  leather  strap  around  the  other's 
waist,  and  a  third  got  behind  Alexander,  and  pushed  him.  I 
could  not  help  laughing  at  this  strange  way  of  climbing — 
three  men  employed  in  dragging  and  forcing  up  one.  Alex- 
ander looked  as  if  it  were  a  serious  matter  with  him.  He 
breathed  heavily,  and  the  perspiration  streamed  from  his  face, 
which  was  red  and  white  by  turns.  Every  two  or  three  min- 
utes he  would  stop  to  rest,  and  say  to  me,  "  This  is  the  hard- 
est job  I  ever  undertook.  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  ever  get 
up ;  but  I  am  bound  to  do  my  best  in  trying." 

The  further  we  went,  the  steeper  the  mountain  grew,  and 
the  thicker  the  ashes  and  scoriae  became.  I  knew  Vesuvius 
was  not  quite  four  thousand  feet  high ;  but  it  appeared  at 
least  twenty  thousand  before  I  got  to  the  summit.  The  wind 
blew  harder  and  harder,  and  I  was  obliged  to  shut  my  eyes 
sometimes  to  keep  out  the  sharp  particles  flying  about  in  such 
profusion.  After  toiling  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  I 
reached  the  region  where  the  lava  lay  in  large  cakes,  and  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  more,  I  found  it  hot  and  smoking,  with 
any  quantity  of  half  burning  cinders  under  my  feet. 

The  guide  had  taken  up  in  his  haversack  a  few  eggs,  and 
giving  me  two  or  three,  I  placed  them  in  the  cinders  and 
among  the  fragments  of  lava,  where  in  a  minute  or  two  they 
were  thoroughly  roasted,  as  1  discovered  by  eating  them.  I 
think  I  should  have  liked  them  better  if  I  had  not  fancied 
they  had  a  flavor  of  sulphur,  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  is  never 
recommended  in  cooking.  Alexander  declined  to  eat  any 
eggs,  saying  he  wished  to  reserve  all  the  strength  he  had  to 
get  to  the  top. 

After  this  little  luncheon,  we  resumed  our  climbing,  and 
soon  knew  by  the  crevices  in  the  mountain,  out  of  which  sul- 
phurous smoke  was  issuing,  from  the  burning  sensation  of  our 
feet  and  the  generally  hot  and  half  suffocating  atmosphere, 
that  we  could  not  be  very  far  from  the  crater.  Brimstone 
was  abundant  thereabout.     It  lay  in  great  yellow  spots  along 


A   YAWNING  GULF  OF  FIRE.  491 

and  around  the  path  I  took,  and  so  filled  the  air  with  its 
fumes  that  I  could  hardly  breathe.  I  took  out  my  handker- 
chief, moist  from  frequent  mopping  of  my  face,  and  tied  it 
over  my  mouth  and  nostrils  to  prevent  inhaling  the  sulphur. 
The  guide  now  pointed  out  a  hollow  in  the  mountain  full  of 
cracks  and  seams,  which,  he  said,  had  once  been  the  crater — 
about  sixty  or  seventy  years  before,  in  all  probability — but 
which  no  more  resembled  it  than  many  other  places  I  had 
noticed. 

Fifteen  minutes  more,  and  I  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  real 
crater.  I  confess  I  was  surprised.  I  had  expected  to  see 
only  a  moderate-sized  hole  partially  filled  with  hot  ashes,  sur- 
rounded with  smoke  and  vapor.  Instead  of  this,  I  saw  before 
me  at  my  very  feet,  a  vast,  yawning  fiery  gulf,  from  which 
rushed  great  blasts  of  hot  air,  threatening  to  stifle  me.  Far 
below,  the  flames,  white,  yellow,  crimson,  and  purple,  were 
raging,  and  all  the  interior  of  the  volcano  looked  red-hot.  It 
seemed  as  if  it  must  have  been  burned  out  hollow,  and  as  if 
all  the  outside  were  only  a  shell,  which  might  break  through 
at  any  minute,  and  let  me  down  into  the  fiery  pit. 

I  could  not  see  to  the  bottom  on  account  of  the  vapor  and 
smoke ;  but  the  crater  appeared  to  be  twelve  to  fifteen  hund- 
red feet  deep,  and  seventeen  to  eighteen  hundred  feet  in  diam- 
eter. There  was  a  tremendous  hissing  and  boiling,  bubbling, 
and  muttering,  as  if  every  minute  there  might  be  a  new  erup- 
tion. There  was  no  danger  of  that,  however,  as  the  crater 
always  fills  up  before  an  eruption  takes  place ;  indeed,  it  is 
caused,  as  supposed,  by  the  choking  up  of  the  ordinary  vents 
by  which  the  steam  and  gasses  and  hot  air  generally  escape. 

The  old  Romans  used  to  believe  that  the  crater  of  Vesu- 
vius was  one  of  the  mouths  of  Hades,  and  the  belief  was 
natural  enough  to  so  superstitious  a  people.  If  there  were 
any  mouths  or  openings  to  any  such  imaginary  region,  I  should 
be  quite  willing  to  regard  the  crater  as  one  of  them.  Appear- 
ances are  eminently  in  its  favor. 

There  was  a  species  of  fascination  about  the  burning  gulf. 
I  felt  a  painful  satisfaction  in  standing  on  the  brink,  and 


492  MAGNIFICENT  VIEW. 

wondering  in  how  many  seconds  I  should  perish,  were  I  to 
give  a  single  step  forward.  Blast  after  blast,  and  wave  upon 
wave,  of  fiery  heat  dashed  up  and  beyond  me,  until  I  fancied 
my  eyelashes,  eyebrows,  and  whiskers  must  be  singed,  and  my 
face  blistered.  The  sulphur  odors  were  very  powerful,  and, 
strong  as  my  lungs  are,  they  seemed  sometimes  to  be  almost 
in  a  state  of  congestion. 

Persons  of  a  consumptive  tendency  would  be  in  peril  there, 
I  am  confident.  Alexander,  who  was  robust  and  vigorous, 
told  me  he  nearly  fainted  on  the  edge  of  the  crater,  and  that 
it  gave  him  a  shock  he  had  never  before  experienced.  When 
we  returned  to  Naples,  he  was  sick  and  confined  to  his  bed 
for  nearly  a  week — the  result  of  the  excitement  and  exhaust- 
ion caused  by  his  adventure. 

While  we  were  on  the  summit  of  the  volcano,  the  wind 
lulled  and  the  clouds  broke  away.  The  sun,  which  was  slowly 
descending,  came  out  clearly,  and  bathed  the  beautiful  bay, 
the  distant  city,  Herculaneum,  Pompeii,  Capri,  Ischia,  Poz- 
zuoli,  and  all  the  charming  scenery  for  miles  around  in  a  vast 
flood  of  golden  glory.  Such  a  grand  view,  under  such  favor- 
able circumstances,  I  have  rarely  witnessed.  It  was  well 
worth  the  trouble  of  climbing  Vesuvius,  for  the  broad  region 
of  land  and  sea,  town  and  villa,  island  and  mountain,  ruins 
of  the  past,  and  splendors  of  the  present,  lay  stretched  out  in 
the  soft,  purple  air,  as  in  a  fairy  dream.  The  varied  and  de- 
lightful picture  of  nature  was  a  fine  contrast  and  relief  to  the 
awful  gloom  and  terror  of  the  burning  crater.  I  remained 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain  until  the  sun  had  touched  the 
horizon,  watching  in  the  mean  time  with  deep  interest  the  ever- 
changing  and  gorgeous  shadows  falling  upon  the  vision  of 
beauty  which  lay  beneath  my  feet.  I  felt  the  supreme  satis- 
faction of  gazing  on  some  of  the  rarest  aspects  of  nature. 
They  stole  into  my  memory  and  have  lingered  there  since  in 
such  forms  of  loveliness  as  to  bring  back  almost  daily  the 
ascent  of  the  volcano,  its  awful  mysteries,  and  its  crowning 
splendors. 

Having  supped  full  of  the  crater,  and  having  swallowed 


BACK  TO  NAPLES.  493 

two  or  three  glasses  of  the  hot  wine  the  guide  had  carried  up, 
having  paid  the  whole  half-dozen  of  the  heggars  the  exorbi- 
tant price  they  demanded,  and  given  them  what  they  wanted 
to  drink,  I  began  the  descent.  The  Italians  were  determined 
to  be  recognized,  but  as  I  declared  in  the  choicest  Tuscan 
that  1  would  not  give  them  another  carlino,  and  that  I'd  hurt 
some  of  them  if  they  touched  me,  they  let  me  alone  severely. 
Going  down  was  fine  fun.  At  every  bound  my  feet  sunk  so 
deep  into  the  ashes  and  lava  that  falling  was  impossible,  so 
long  as  I  leaned  backward.  I  ran  all  the  way,  and  in  less 
than  three  minutes  was  where  the  horses  were  tied  to  the 
blocks  of  lava.  They  had  looked  as  small  as  rabbits  from 
the  summit  and  I  was  glad  to  see  them  resume  their  original 
proportions,  convinced  if  they  were  reduced  in  any  way  they 
would  never  reach  the  railway  station. 

I  took  the  guide's  horse,  and  as  he  seemed  desirous  to  get 
to  his  stable  he  moved  off  in  good  style.  I  urged  him  to  a 
run,  and  all  three  of  us  dashed  over  the  road  at  that  pace, 
making  clouds  of  dust,  whirling  through  the  vineyards,  past 
the  wine-shops,  the  yelping  curs,  the  dirty  children,  the  hide- 
ous old  women,  the  greasy-looking  men,  until  we  reached 
Torre  dell'  Annunziata,  our  faces  crimson,  and  our  horses 
white  with  foam.  Covered  with  dust,  and  talking  English  to 
each  other,  we  were  recognized  by  beggars,  boot-blacks,  news- 
boys, and  sweet-meat  venders,  and  fairly  besieged.  We  took 
refuge  in  a  wine-shop,  and  waited  until  the  train  arrived, 
when  we  returned  to  Naples  in  a  very  soiled  condition,  the 
mob  following  us  and  clamoring  for  every  coin  between  a  tor- 
nese  and  a  pezza,  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar. 


CHAPTER     LXII. ! 


VENICE. 

■ENICE  is  an  architectural  romance.  Some 
strange  and  interesting  history  is  bound  up 
in  every  noticeable  building.  It  fairly  bristles 
with  associations,  and  teems  with  mysteries  never 
yet  explained.  The  most  original  and  peculiar 
city  of  the  world,  it  has  a  species  of  fascination 
for  the  reasoning  mind  no  less  than  the  poetic  brain. 
For  ten  centuries  Venice  was  the  scene  of  perpetual  strug- 
gles, of  great  enterprises,  of  remarkable  reverses,  of  dazzling 
triumphs.  An  aristocratic  democracy,  a  liberal  despotism, 
an  enlightened  tyranny,  all  the  power  seemingly  resident  in 
the  Doges,  the  Doges  were  as  liable  to  arrest  and  punishment 
as  the  humblest  citizen.  The  greatest  among  their  rulers  lost 
their  heads,  and  no  one,  though  they  were  very  popular  and 
had  rendered  great  service  to  the  State,  murmured  at  their 
doom.  The  Inquisition  of  the  Three  and  the  Council  of  the 
Ten  were  supreme ;  and  yet  they,  in  turn,  might  any  day  have 
found  themselves  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  and 
twenty-four  hours  after  their  headless  corpses  might  have 
been  floating  at  midnight  in  a  silent  gondola  under  the  mys- 
tic Bridge  of  Sighs. 

All  the  history  and  all  the  fiction  of  which  Venice  forms  so 
large  a  part,  comes  freshly  to  your  mind  as  you  stand  in  the 
famous  Piazza  San  Marco,  or  glide  along  its  winding  canals. 
All  the  dead  Doges  ending  with  Ludorico  Manini  file  before 
you.  Blanca  Capello  leaves  her  palace  (still  standing  mute 
and  mouldy),  and  flies  with  her  lover  so  handsome  and  so 


THE  PIAZZA.  495 

unworthy.  Andrea  Dandolo  once  more  returns  in  triumph 
from  golden  conquests ;  again  Sabastiano  Ziani  weds  the  Adri- 
atic. Pierre  and  Jaffier  plot,  and  Belvidera  weeps.  Antonio 
spurns  Shylock  on  the  Rialto.  Desdemona  listens  to  Othello, 
and  loses  her  virgin  heart  through  her  greedy  ear. 

The  poetry  of  Venice  is  more  real  than  its  history.  You 
think  of  Shakespeare's  creations  when  its  arms  and  its  alli- 
ances are  forgotten.  It  is  a  striking  proof  of  genius  that  the 
great  dramatist  should  have  embalmed  in  his  wondrous  verse 
the  city  he  never  saw,  weaving  from  his  fancy  what  seem 
immortal  facts. 

One  needs  no  society  in  Venice.  He  has  constant  compan- 
ionship in  his  memory,  and  his  culture  is  as  perfect  sympathy. 
I  have  ridden  day  after  day  in  the  gondolas  past  decaying 
palaces,  and  out  to  the  islands  in  the  lagoons,  careless  of  the 
hours,  and  incapable  of  determining  time.  The  prattle  of  the 
rowers,  directing  my  attention  here  and  there,  fell  unheeded. 
I  heard  what  they  heard  not;  I  saw  what  they  could  not  see. 

Venice  is  indeed  the  city  of  dreams.  Existence  appears 
unsubstantial  there ;  exertion  impossible ;  the  future  nothing. 
Only  the  past  has  a  place  in  the  brain  of  the  Bride  of  the 
Adriatic.  I  have  often  felt  there  that  I  was  lying  on  the  soft 
pillows  of  a  million  memories,  and  I  dreaded  to  stir  lest  they 
should  be  displaced.  The  Piazza,  as  the  Piazza  San  Marco 
is  called  by  way  of  distinction,  has  the  reputation  of  one  of 
the  finest  squares  in  Europe.  The  marble  palaces  that  have 
been  so  much  praised  are  blackened  with  age  and  weather, 
and  not  imposing  in  their  style  of  architecture  since  certain 
alterations  and  additions  have  been  made.  Once  the  abode 
of  the  highest  officers  of  the  Republic,  they  are  now  occupied 
exclusively  as  shops,  and  remind  me  of  the  Palais  Royal  with 
their  gay  windows  and  continuous  arcades. 

The  Piazza,  and  its  vicinity,  are  the  very  heart  of  the  city. 
All  Venice,  at  least  the  fashionable  part,  goes  there  on  the 
evenings  when  the  bands  play,  which  they  usually  do  three 
times  a  week.  On  festal  days  the  Piazza,  the  Piazetta,  the 
Molo,  and  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni,  are  thronged.    The  two 


496  MENDICANTS  AND  HAWKERS. 

best  cafe's,  Florian's  and  the  Quadri,  have  in  front  little  tables 
extending  nearly  to  the  middle  of  the  square.  At  those  tables 
sit  men  and  women,  and  sometimes  children,  smoking,  drink- 
ing, and  sipping  sorbetto  in  the  most  informal  manner  and  in 
the  best  of  spirits.  When  the  nights  were  pleasant — and 
they  are  usually  delightful  in  spring  and  early  summer — I 
always  tarried  in  the  Piazza  until  11  o'clock,  when  engaging 
a  gondola,  1  was  rowed  through  the  lagoons  and  out  toward 
the  Adriatic. 

The  Venetians  are  a  pleasure-loving  people,  though  one- 
third  of  them  are  reported  to  be  paupers  entirely  supported 
by  public  charity.  Another  third,  I  should  judge,  are  pro- 
fessional beggars ;  for,  go  where  you  will,  you  see  made-up 
faces  and  extended  hats  soliciting  alms.  The  first  words 
Venetian  children  learn,  I  suppose,  are  "  Datemi  qualcosa, 
Signore"  and  the  babies  are  said  to  turn  from  the  maternal 
font  to  look  for  soldi  in  the  maternal  eye. 

Sitting  in  the  Piazza  would  be  much  pleasanter  if  one  were 
not  annoyed  constantly  by  mendicants,  flower-girls,  hawkers, 
and  wandering  musicians — a  host  of  bores  it  is  difficult  to  put 
to  flight.  No  sooner  is  one  gotten  rid  of  than  another  ap- 
pears. Conversation  is  interrupted  and  coffee  drinking  inter- 
minable under  such  circumstances. 

I  endured  the  infliction  and  parted  with  all  my  small  coin 
in  hope  of  buying  my  redemption.  But  having  gained  a  rep- 
utation for  good  nature,  the  beggars,  flower-girls,  hawkers, 
and  musicians  all  bore  down  upon  me  with  such  distracting 
pertinacity  that  I  was  obliged  to  quote  several  lines  of  Homer. 
That  had  the  desired  effect.  They  went  off  in  alarm,  believ- 
ing no  doubt  the  Greek  words  were  maledictions,  all  the  more 
dreadful  because  they  were  not  understood. 

San  Marco  is  one  of  the  most  unique  churches  on  the  Con- 
tinent. Its  architecture,  which  was  originally  Byzantine,  has 
had  so  many  Gothic  and  other  adjuncts  that  it  is  impossible 
to  determine  its  exact  character.  Begun  in  the  tenth  century, 
it  has  been  undergoing  modifications  and  variations  ever  since. 
It  looks  like  the  marriage  of  a  mosque  to  a  cathedral,  and  as 


SAN  MARCO.  497 

if  the  marriage  had  been  inharmonious.  The  rich  mosaics 
in  front  and  inside  of  the  church,  its  rich,  varied,  oriental 
marbles,  its  five  domes,  its  quaint  and  elaborate  ornamenta- 
tion, attract  more  than  they  please  the  eye. 

Immense  sums  have  been  expended  upon  it — not  less  than 
$25,000,000  or  $30,000,000,  it  is  estimated— and  you  do  not 
wonder  at  it  when  you  observe  the  barbaric  richness  that  per- 
vades the  building.  The  mosaic  pavement  has  sunk  in  many 
places,  giving  an  idea  of  greater  age  than  the  church  has. 

The  four  bronze  horses  over  the  principal  portals  are  very 
famous.  They  have  had  more  changes  than  any  figures 
known.  They  are  believed  to  have  been  brought  by  Augustus 
from  Alexandria  after  his  victory  over  Antony,  and  to  have 
adorned  the  triumphal  arch  of  Nero,  and  of  other  Roman  Em- 
perors subsequent  to  the  tyrant's  death.  Constantine  removed 
them  to  Constantinople,  and  Doge  Dandolo  carried  them  to 
Venice  in  1208.  Napoleon  subsequently  took  them  to  Paris, 
and  mounted  them  on  the  arch  of  the  Place  du  Carousel.  The 
Venitians,  who  were  very  indignant  at  the  artistic  rape,  cre- 
ated such  a  disturbance  that  the  horses  were  returned  in  1815. 
The  people  have  a  superstition  connected  with  the  horses, 
believing  the  city  can  never  prosper  without  them. 

The  Pala  d'Oro,  which  forms  the  altar-piece,  is  a  valuable 
acquisition,  reported  to  be  worth  $3,000,000.  It  is  of  gold 
and  silver,  about  five  feet  by  three,  and  incrusted  with  pre- 
cious stones  to  the  number  of  several  thousand.  The  Pala 
was  made  in  Constantinople  in  the  tenth  century,  and  contains 
many  Latin  and  Greek  inscriptions.  For  a  long  time  it  was 
shown  only  on  festal  days ;  but  it  is  now  exposed  to  the  vul- 
gar eye,  and  may  be  examined  for  a  lira,  or  even  half  that 
sum. 

The  Ducal  Palace  every  one  is  familiar  with,  from  the  count- 
less engravings  and  photographs  that  have  been  scattered 
everywhere.  It  is,  probably,  as  interesting  as  any  building 
in  the  world,  for  its  past  is  full  of  mystery,  which  always  has 
its  fascination.  It  is  not  what  we  know  of  the  palace,  but 
what  we  do  not  know,  that  constitutes  its  charm.     No  one 


498  TEE  INTERIOR. 

can  look  at  its  Moorish-Gothic  walls  (the  fifth  that  have  stood 
in  the  same  spot) ,  remembering  their  predecessors  were  four 
times  destroyed  during  six  memorable  centuries,  and  imagin- 
ing what  has  occurred  beyond  those  curious  colonnades,  with- 
out feeling  a  thrill  of  historic  association.  Between  the 
two  columns  of  red  marble  in  the  upper  colonnade  the  death 
sentences  of  the  republic  were  formerly  published,  and  from 
the  portal  adjoining  San  Marco  placards  announced  the  sov* 
ereign  decrees  of  Venice.  The  building  is  unique,  as  every- 
thing is  in  that  city.  All  the  capitals  of  the  short  columns 
are  different,  being  richly  decorated  with  foliage,  figures  of 
men  and  animals  and  strange  allegorical  symbols. 

The  interior  cannot  fail  to  be  interesting  if  the  walls  are  so 
attractive.  Let  us  enter,  and  bid  the  dead  Doges  live  again. 
The  court  has  two  cisterns  with  bronze  fronts,  reputed  to  con- 
tain the  best,  or,  more  properly,  the  least  bad  water  in  the 
city.  We  ascend  the  Giant's  Staircase,  look  at  the  colossal 
statues  of  Mars  and  Neptune,  and  linger  on  the  landing  where 
the  Doges  were  crowned.  In  the  gallery  we  have  reached 
are  the  busts  of  Venetian  Doges,  artists  and  scholars — among 
them  Enrico  Dandolo,  Bembo,  Marco  Polo,  Tintoretto,  Gali- 
leo, Sebastian  Cabot,  Foscari,  Vittorio  Pisani,  and  others. 

Passing  along  the  corridor  loggia,  we  find  on  the  left  the 
Golden  Staircase,  which  only  the  Venetian  aristocracy  whose 
names  were  written  in  the  book  of  nobility  were  permitted  to 
ascend.  We  then  enter  the  library,  where  10,000  valuable 
manuscripts  are  preserved,  and  many  excellent  miniatures  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  purchased  by  Doge  Grimani  for  500 
sequins. 

We  come  then  to  the  Sala  della  Bussola,  the  ante-room  of 
the  Council  of  Ten."  At  the  entrance  was  the  famous  lion's 
head,  into  whose  mouth  were  thrown  the  secret  denunciations 
of  the  enemies  of  the  State.  The  head  is  gone  now,  but  the 
aperture  remains.  How  dreaded  it  was  once  ;  how  harmless 
now !  How  many  lives,  how  much  pain,  that  terrible  mouth 
has  caused.  Looking  at  it  even  through  the  shadow  of  cen- 
turies causes  something  like  a  shudder. 


THE  STATE  PRISONS.  499 

Then  we  reach  the  hall  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  who  here 
ruled  the  republic,  and  yet  were  obnoxious  to  its  decrees — 
tyrants  to-day,  and  perhaps  victims  to-morrow.  Here  they 
sat  in  judgment  upon  men  of  power,  who  never  imagined  they 
had  been  suspected,  and  who,  once  suspected,  were  arrested, 
condemned,  executed  often  within  twenty-four  hours.  Ter- 
rible authority,  used  with  such  rigid  justice  that  it  was  almost 
cruelty !  In  those  days  there  was  but  one  unpardonable 
crime — lack  of  loyalty  to  Venice.  Offend  the  sensitive  and 
remorseless  abstraction,  Venice,  and  the  law  moved  through 
darkness  like  a  hungry  tiger  to  a  bloody  revenge. 

We  come  now  to  the  Senate  Hall,  and  we  fancy  the  severe 
Senators  have  just  quitted  their  seats  to  reflect  upon  some 
measure  yet  undetermined  in  council.  If  we  wait,  perhaps 
they  will  come  again  in  the  dark  robes,  with  the  stern  faces 
we  have  so  often  seen  reproduced  by  the  artist's  cunning. 

We  open  this  massive  door,  and  we  are  in  the  audience 
chamber  of  the  Doge  and  his  private  counsellors.  There  they 
received  foreign  Ambassadors,  and  in  the  days  of  their  rule 
and  pride  they  were  haughty  in  their  demands,  exacting  in 
their  claims,  dictatorial  in  their  terms,  pitiless  in  their  resent- 
ments. Nations  knelt  before  them,  and  they  spurned  the 
proudest  in  the  dust.     See  how  time  brings  its  revenges  ! 

We  mount  to  the  celebrated  Sotto  Piombi,  once  prisons, 
where  the  sufferings  of  the  inmates  from  heat  and  cold,  in 
summer  and  winter,  were  so  intense  that  they  perished  by 
inches.  Venice  pitied  them  not.  They  had  offended  Venice, 
and  death  was  the  only  thing  for  them. 

Under  the  Piombi  are  the  Pozzi,  or  dark  cells.  We  follow 
the  guide  with  torches,  and  the  departed  centuries  roll  back 
again  with  the  crimes,  the  mysteries,  the  tortures,  the  secret 
executions  of  the  despotic  republic.  Neither  light  nor  hope 
entered  there.  Every  minute  was  charged  with  fate.  The 
accused  was  tried  without  knowing  his  accusers.  He  was  led 
from  the  hall  to  the  dark  dungeons  again.  There  the  priest 
visited  him  to  shrive  his  soul.  No  communication  was  al- 
lowed with  the  outer  world.     He  was  indeed  in  the  jaws  of 


5°0  HALL  OF  THE  GREATER  COUNCIL. 

the  hungry  lion.  The  teeth  snapped  together,  and  the  head- 
less corpse  was  the  only  message  to  his  friends. 

We  are  in  the  dungeon  where  Marino  Faliero  and  Jacopo 
Foscari  were  confined.  They  breathed  this  chilly  yet  stifling 
air.  They  strained  their  eyes,  as  we  do  when  the  torches  are 
removed.  We  realize  their  situation.  We  pity  them.  We 
see  them  pale  but  heroic.  We  plead  for  their  liberty ;  but 
they  are  slumbering  peacefully,  and  four  centuries  of  world- 
tossing  has  not  disturbed  their  sleep. 

The  Bridge  of  Sighs  has  been  made  poetical  by  Byron,  and 
ever  since  the  stories  have  been  repeated  of  State  prisoners 
being  led  to  death  from  the  palace  to  the  prison ;  of  their  fate 
being  decided  when  they  passed  it ;  of  their  agony  when  they 
stepped  upon  it,  and  felt  the  shadow  of  their  doom.  It  is 
generally  supposed  that  Faliero  and  Francesco  di  Carrara 
went  over  the  Ponte  de'  Sospiri  to  the  block.  But  they  did 
not,  nor  did  any  other  political  offenders.  The  prison  is  com- 
paratively modern.  The  persons  confined  there  are,  and 
always  have  been,  vulgar  criminals — robbers,  forgers,  mur- 
derers— and  they  alone  cross  the  bridge.  All  the  romance 
of  the  passage  of  pain  rests  upon  a  fiction  or  a  blunder. 

Some  noticeable  pictures  are  in  the  Hall  of  the  Greater 
Council  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  Among  them  is  Tintoretto's 
Paradise,  84^  by  34  feet,  the  largest  picture  on  canvas  known. 
It  is  blackened  and  marred  by  efforts  at  restoration,  and  is  so 
crowded  with  figures  that  one  must  have  much  patience  to 
devote  to  it  the  time  it  requires.  Tintoretto  must  have  had 
an  insatiable  appetite  for  work,  for  he  did  enough  to  fill  a 
dozen  ordinary  lives.  The  city  is  full  of  his  pictures,  and 
many  of  them  are  exceedingly  fine.  One  must  go  to  Venice 
to  get  a  correct  idea  of  Tintoretto,  who  certainly  had  a  bold- 
ness and  breadth  of  execution,  a  variety  of  invention,  and  a 
force  of  expression  few  artists  have  ever  shown. 

The  flower  girls  in  Venice  are  quite  different  from  those  of 
Southern  Italy.  They  are  young,  many  of  them  pretty  and 
very  neatly  dressed.  The  comely  ones  find  numerous  pat- 
rons ;  but  I  judge  from  the  perfect  understanding  that  seems 


JNSTRUMEXTS  OF  TORTURE.  501 

to  exist  between  them  and  many  of  their  customers,  that  their 
calling  is  but  a  thin  disguise. 

The  Arsenal  is  worth  looking  at  as  an  evidence  of  what 
Venice  once  was.  It  has  numerous  walls  and  towers,  and 
occupies  a  space  two  miles  in  circumference.  Though  more 
than  five  centuries  old,  it  has  very  complete  yards,  basins,  and 
buildings,  and  so  many  of  them  as  to  convey  a  vivid  idea  of 
the  Republic  in  its  days  of  naval  supremacy. 

At  present  the  armory  is  open  to  visitors,  and  even  that 
the  Austrians  plundered.  Various  suits  of  armor  are  shown 
with  numerous  cross-bows,  match-locks,  swords,  halberds,  and 
helmets.  One  of  them,  of  heavy  iron,  was  worn  by  Attila, 
King  of  the  Huns,  and  is  quite  as  much  as  an  ordinary  man 
can  bear  on  his  shoulders.  I  tried  it  on  myself,  and  found  it 
the  most  becoming  head-covering  I  ever  had,  for  it  was  so 
large  that  it  completely  covered  my  face. 

A  fragment  of  the  Bucentoro,  the  vessel  in  which  the  Doge 
espoused  the  Adriatic,  is  among  the  objects  of  interest,  and 
also  a  model  of  the  ship  in  which  Columbus  discovered  Amer- 
ica. The  collection  is  similar  to  that  in  the  Tower  of  London, 
but  in  some  respects  more  interesting. 

The  instruments  of  torture  prove  the  barbarity  of  the  me- 
diaeval ages.  There  are  the  thumb-screws,  pincers,  racks, 
spiked  collars,  and  bone-crushers  of  the  most  excruciating 
pattern.  What  is  called  the  hood  of  violence  is  an  iron  hel- 
met of  such  ample  size  as  to  cover  the  victim's  shoulders.  In 
the  top  are  holes  into  which  red-hot  spikes  were  thrust  against 
the  head  and  neck  to  extort  confession,  which  was  heard 
through  an  aperture  at  the  side. 

A  number  of  instruments  that  were  the  property  of  Fran- 
cesco di  Carrara,  tyrant  of  Padua,  are  kept  in  a  cabinet.  One 
of  them  is  an  infernal  machine,  which  killed  whoever  opened 
it  by  a  spring  connected  with  two  loaded  pistol-barrels. 

Though  Venice  is  built,  as  you  remember,  on  seventy-two 
little  islands ;  is  traversed  by  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
canals,  including  the  Grand  Canal,  running  through  it  in  the 
form  of  an  S,  and  has  some  three  hundred  and  seventy  bridges, 


502  CHURCHES  AND  ACADEMIES. 

the  city  from  the  top  of  the  bell-tower  of  San  Marco  looks  like 
any  other  city ;  the  houses  being  too  high  and  the  canals  too 
narrow  to  show  its  peculiar  situation.  Though  gondolas  are 
the  ordinary  modes  of  conveyance,  one  can  walk  all  over  the 
town,  not  more  than  six  miles  in  circuit,  by  means  of  the  nar- 
row pavements  bordering  the  canals.  The  only  real  street  is 
the  crooked  and  narrow  Merceria,  lined  with  shops,  which 
leads  to  the  Rialto,  and  is  always  much  crowded. 

In  Venice,  the  first  bill  of  exchange  appeared ;  the  first 
bank  of  deposit  and  discount  was  established,  and  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  seventeenth  century, — the  first  newspaper  in 
the  world  was  published.  It  received  its  name  Qazzetta 
(Gazette)  from  the  coin  for  which  it  was  sold. 

The  Churches  and  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  are  very  in- 
teresting, as  are  the  islands,  Burano,  Chiogga,  Torcello,  the 
Lido  and  Murano,  famous  even  in  the  middle  ages  for  its  glass 
works,  and  now  employing  3,000  persons.  Chiogga  is  noted 
for  the  beauty  of  its  women,  said  to  have  furnished  models 
for  the  old  Venetian  painters ;  but  when  I  was  there  their 
beauty  was  invisible. 


CHAPTER  LXHL 

OUT-OF-THE-WAY    CITIES. 

HE  smaller  and  comparatively  out-of-the-way 
places  in   Italy  have  always  had   a   strong 
magnetism  for  me.  They  are  far  less  pervaded 
than  the  common  centers  of  travel  by  the  spirit  of 
modern  progress.  They  give  leisure  to  become  im- 
pregnated with  their  influences,  and  to  look  at  their 
records  of  the  past  with  feelings  disconnected  from 
the  ever-prosaic  present. 

Quaint  old  Rimini  draws  me  from  afar ;  but  I  have  never 
been  quite  able  to  realize  that  the  little  walled  town  of  17,000 
people  is  the  historic  home  of  the  Malatestas,  and  on  the  site 
of  the  ancient  city  of  Ariminium.  When  I  crossed  the 
eighteen-century-old  bridge  of  Augustus  over  the  Marecchia, 
I  felt  for  the  moment  as  if  I  were  going  back  to  the  Roman 
Empire  ;  but  the  appeals  of  a  crowd  of  beggars  a  few  minutes 
after  at  the  railway  station  brought  me  back  to  the  present 
century. 

The  Arch  of  Augustus,  now  the  Porta  Romana,  under 
which  the  road  to  Rome  passes,  is  built  of  travertine  ;  com- 
memorates the  gratitude  of  the  inhabitants  to  Augustus  for 
repairing  their  roads,  and  is  of  much  classic  interest.  The 
Church  of  San  Francesco  is  covered  with  armorial  bearings 
of  the  Malatestas — the  rose  and  elephant  predominate — and 
the  seven  sarcophagi  contain  the  ashes  of  the  distinguished 
men  the  reigning  family  called  to  their  aid  and  honor. 

The  house  of  Francesca  da  Rimini,  whom  Dante  has  made 


504  THE  Rl  VAL  R  UB ICONS. 

immortal,  was  on  the  site  of  the  Palazzo  Ruffi ;  though  many 
insist  and  believe  the  present  building  was  the  home  of  Paolo's 
mistress.  So  many  sentimental  tears  have  been  shed  over 
Guido's  unhappy  daughter,  that  few  romantic  minds  will  ever 
credit  the  story,  recently  told,  that  her  tender  escapade  was 
only  one  of  many  similar  episodes  in  her  life. 

The  ancient  port  of  Rimini,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Marecchia, 
has  been  destroyed  by  the  sand  brought  down  by  the  river, 
and  is  now  the  resort  of  many  small  fishing  vessels  ;  nearly 
half  of  the  entire  population  being  fishermen. 

Leaving  Rimini  for  Cesena,  I  was  anxious  to  find  the  far- 
famed  Rubicon,  and  the  result  was  I  stopped  at  every  little 
stream  to  bathe.  In  most  of  them  there  was  not  water 
enough  for  the  purpose,  and  I  had  to  content  myself  with  a 
lavation  of  the  feet.  The  Pisciatello,  near  Cesena,  the  Rigossa, 
near  Roncoireddo,  the  Fiumicino,  near  Sogliano,  and  the  Uso, 
flowing  directly  into  the  Adriatic,  have  each  and  all  put  for- 
ward strong  claims  to  be  considered  the  classic  stream.  Near 
Savignano,  the  column  on  which  is  inscribed  a  Senatus  Con- 
sultum,  denouncing  any  one  as  sacrilegious  who  should  cross 
the  Rubicon  with  an  army  or  legion,  is  now  declared  apocryphal. 
The  Uso  is  most  probably  the  old  boundary  between  ancient 
Italy  and  Cisalpine  Gaul,  and  is  to  this  day  called  by  the 
peasants  II  Rubicone.  There  was  more  water  in  that  little 
river,  and  I  fancied,  when  it  touched  my  lips,  that  it  had 
something  of  the  Cesarean  flavor — imparted  no  doubt  when 
the  great  Julius  plunged  in  with  the  words,  "Jacta  est  aha!  ' 
Consequently,  I  give  my  vote  for  the  Uso  as  the  only  original 
Rubicon.  The  question  of  authenticity  still  lies  between  the 
Uso  and  Fiumicino,  in  spite  of  the  Papal  Bull  of  1758  declar- 
ing in  favor  of  the  former  stream.  It  is  somewhat  notable 
that  the  dramatic  story  of  Caesar's  passage  of  the  Rubicon, 
though  told  by  Plutarch  and  Suetonius,  is  not  mentioned  in 
the  "  Commentaries,"  whose  author  could  not  have  foreborne 
to  allude  to  it  on  account  of  his  extreme  modesty. 

Ravenna  is  altogether  historical,  having  been  the  capital  of 
the  Wetsern  Empire,  the  seat  of  the  Gothic  and  Longobardic 


RAVENNA.  505 

kings  and  the  metropolis  of  the  Greek  Exarchs.  Within  its 
walls  are  the  tombs  of  Theodosius's  children,  of  numerous  Ex- 
archs and  Patriarchs,  and  of  the  renowned  author  of  the 
"  Divina  Commedia."  The  mausoleum  of  Theodoric,  king  of 
the  Goths,  a  rotunda  built  of  blocks  of  Istrian  limestone,  is  a 
short  distance  beyond  the  gates,  and  the  deserted  streets  are 
full  of  Christian  antiquities,  which  have  undergone  little  change 
since  Justinian's  time.  Persons  interested  in  theology  regard 
Ravenna  with  the  liveliest  concern. 

The  sea  once  flowed  against  the  walls  of  the  town,  but  is 
now  about  four  miles  distant.  The  ancient  city  was  built 
like  Venice,  upon  piles  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  swamp,  and 
communication  kept  up  by  numerous  bridges.  The  tomb  of 
Dante,  near  the  Church  of  San  Francesco,  is  a  square  edifice 
with  a  small  dome,  internally  decorated  with  stucco  orna- 
ments. In  the  neighborhood  is  Byron's  house,  and  the 
memory  of  the  poet  is  still  cherished  in  the  city,  which  he 
quitted  half  a  century  ago,  and  where  he  was  honored  and 
loved  for  his  countless  acts  of  kindness  and  generosity.  He 
liked  Ravenna  exceedingly,  and  praised  the  climate  much  more 
than  I  can,  though  his  partiality  to  the  place  may  have  been 
owing  in  part  to  the  society  of  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  with 
whom  he  passed  most  of  his  time. 

The  Pineta,  or  pine  forest  near  the  city,  extending  for 
twenty-five  miles  along  the  Adriatic,  was  one  of  the  poet's 
favorite  rides.  Besides  himself,  Dryden,  Boccaccio,  and 
Dante  have  sung  its  praises ;  and  very  grateful  in  warm 
weather  have  I  found  its  cooling  shades.  Ravenna  has  not 
now  a  population  of  over  20,000,  many  of  whom  are  very 
poor,  and  largely  dependent  on  the  charity  of  the  wealthy 
families. 

Ferrara  is  one  of  the  decaying  capitals  that  has  always 
appealed  to  me.  The  old  home  of  Tasso,  the  faded  court  of 
the  ducal  Estes,  the  grave  of  poor  Parasina  Malatesta,  it  tells 
its  own  story. 

Grass  grows  in  its  broad  and  deserted  streets ;  its  spacious 
palaces  are  decaying,  and  its  strong  walls  enclose  thrice  as 


V 

506  FERRARA. 

much  space  as  is  occupid  by  the  shrunken  population.  The 
Ferrarese  say  they  have  30,000  in  the  town  ;  but  I  don't  be- 
lieve there  are  20,000 — not  more  than  one-fifth  of  what  it  con- 
tained at  the  height  of  its  power. 

The  principal  piazza,  del  Mercato,  in  the  centre  of  the  town, 
is  very  mediaeval  in  appearance.  On  one  side  of  it  is  the 
Cathedral,  a  quaint  and  remarkable  structure  of  the  eleventh 
century,  which  has  undergone  various  changes  and  modifica- 
tions. On  the  other  side  are  castellated  Gothic  buildings 
peculiar  to  the  period.  They  were  once  palaces,  but  now 
serve  for  the  ignoble  purposes  of  trade.  The  architecture, 
the  costumes,  the  loungers  in  the  piazza  have  a  strange,  out- 
of-place  look.  The  people  seem  as  if  they  had  died  some 
centuries  before;  had  forgotten  to  be  buried,  and  were  now  at 
a  loss  to  find  their  graves.  Strangers  attract  attention,  and 
you  observe  eyes  following  you  as  you  go  by.  Dark-haired 
women  peer  out  of  partly-closed  blinds  as  you  pass,  and 
drowsy  vetturini  rouse  themselves  to  solicit  your  custom. 

Italy  is  there,  as  it  was  twenty  years  ago,  before  the  innova- 
tion of  railways  and  the  crowding  into  it  of  English-speaking 
strangers.  Prices  are  low.  You  can  have  things  at  your 
own  terms.  If  you  won't  give  six  francs,  three  or  two  will  be 
accepted. 

At  my  hotel — the  best  in  the  town — the  landlord  named 
five  francs  for  my  room,  and  when  I  repeated  "  cinque 
franci "  for  a  clear  understanding,  he  said,  in  bad  Italian,  but 
with  a  seraphic  smile,  "  Signore  can  have  it  for  four  if  he  will 
consent  to  stay." 

The  arrival  of  a  guest  at  a  public  house  creates  a  sensation, 
especially  late  in  the  season.  All  the  men,  women,  and 
children  have  a  glance  at  him  from  doors  and  windows,  and 
the  drowsy  dog  in  the  court-yard  opens  an  optic  to  make  sure 
the  vision  is  substantial ;  wags  his  tail  hospitably,  and  drops 
to  sleep  again. 

Mould  clings  to  the  houses  ;  the  stucco  drops  from  the 
palaces  ;  vast  gateways  crumble  ;  fair  gardens  run  to  waste  ; 
marble   columns    totter ;    towers    sink ;    priceless    pictures 


COMMUNION  WITH  THE  PAST.  5Q7 

spoil  with  dampness,  and  semi-desolation  girds  faded  Ferrara 
round. 

I  like  Ferrara,  for  all  this.  I  enjoy  its  sleepiness,  its  stag- 
nation, and  share  in  its  soft  dream  of  the  past. 

I  walked  about  the  old  city  one  afternoon  so  far  as  the 
ramparts  ;  sat  on  the  strong-built  walls,  and  thought  how 
times  had  changed  since  they  were  reared.  What  need  of 
them  now  ?  Who  wants  forlorn  Ferrara  to-day  ?  Who  would 
have  it  ?  The  walls  are  mockeries.  The  land  that  can  be 
overflowed  in  the  event  of  a  siege  is  merely  a  harbor  for 
mosquitoes  and  a  generator  of  fever.  The  decayed  city  can- 
not boast  of  an  enemy.  The  race  of  the  Estes  is  extinct. 
Their  glory  has  faded  forever. 

As  I  sat  on  the  walls  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  stars 
came  out.  The  frogs  croaked  in  the  marsh ;  the  swallows 
wheeled  through  the  shadows  of  the  evening ;  the  bats  flew 
out  of  a  broken  bridge  ;  the  lizards  ran  along  the  walls,  and 
the  clocks  of  the  city  churches  tolled  the  passing  hour  like  a 
funeral  knell.  I  imagined  the  ghosts  of  the  departed  stealing 
over  the  ramparts  to  visit  the  home  they  once  had  loved. 

I  imagined  the  sad-eyed  Tasso  fretting  against  fate  and 
mourning  for  his  mistress  so  far  above  him.  I  imagined 
Ariosto  crowned  with  laurel,  and  repeating  his  dulcet  rhymes 
to  the  music  of  his  own  heart.  I  imagined  Henry  the  Proud 
reaching  out  hopefully  for  the  crowns  of  Brunswick  and 
Hanover.  I  imagined  Lucrezia  Borgia,  beautiful  and  cruel, 
stealing  from  her  palace  to  meet  the  assassin  who  had  come 
from  Rome.  I  imagined  Calvin,  hard  and  narrow  as  his 
creed,  convincing  Renata  with  his  pitiless  logic.  I  imagined 
the  gentle  Leonora  sighing  tenderly  for  the  poet  she  dared 
not  love. 

These  projections  of  my  brain  passed ;  but  the  bats,  and  the 
lizards,  and  decaying  Ferrara  remained. 

The  castle,  formerly  the  Ducal  Palace,  is  excellently  pre- 
served. It  is  really  an  old-fashioned  castle,  as  its  name 
implies,  with  moat,  drawbridge,  turrets,  and  bastions  all 
complete.     It  is  built  of  brick,  is  cumbrous  and  massive,  and 


508  HUGO  AND  PARASINA. 

has  four  imposing  towers.  It  was  the  residence  of  the  Estes 
during  their  entire  career,  and  is  full  of  associations.  The 
hall  of  Aurora,  in  which  Leonora,  Duke  Alphonso's  sister,  had 
her  apartments,  is  shown.  It  received  its  name  from  the 
Aurora  that  Titian  painted  on  the  ceiling  as  a  portrait  of 
the  woman  Tasso  loved,  and  is  still  admired.  There  is 
the  room  of  John  Calvin,  while  the  brave  daughter  of  Louis 
XII.  gave  him  an  asylum  from  his  persecutors. 

In  the  prisons  below  are  the  dungeons  in  which  the  un- 
fortunate Parasina  Malatesta,  wife  of  Nicholas  III.,  and  her 
stepson  and  lover,  Hugo,  were  confined  after  their  guilty 
passion  had  been  discovered.  Byron  has  made  the  sad  story 
familiar  in  his  well-known  poem.  Hugo  was  beheaded  in  the 
court-yard.  Parasina,  while  being  led  to  execution,  asked 
after  her  lover,  and,  having  been  told  he  was  dead,  said  she 
had  no  desire  to  live,  and  yielded  with  apparent  gladness  to 
the  axe.  She  is  said  to  have  been  a  charming  woman,  and  it 
was  quite  natural  she  should  be  fond  of  Hugo,  a  gallant  and 
generous  youth,  rather  than  of  her  husband,  a  grim  and  un- 
interesting man.  It  was  not  wise  nor  just  in  Nicholas  to 
condemn  his  wife  and  natural  son.  Hugo  had  merely  done 
what  his  father  had  done  before  him,  and  he  probably  inherited 
the  strong  passions  of  his  sire. 

How  much  more  philosophic  if  Nicholas  had  said  to  his 
wife  :  "  You  have  been  very  imprudent,  to  say  the  least,  my 
dear.  But  if  you  don't  love  me,  it  is  not  your  fault.  Take 
Hugo.  He  is  an  excellent  fellow.  Go  where  you  will.  I'll 
pay  your  passage  to  the  next  station,  even  as  far  as  Chicago, 
if  it  be  necessary.  Get  a  divorce.  I'll  help  you  to  it.  Marry 
Hugo — he  will  make  a  first-rate  husband — and  you  will  forget 
in  his  society  the  unhappiness  you  have  had  in  mine.  Don't 
weep,  Parisina.  Smile,  rather,  at  the  good  fortune  before 
you.  I've  paid  all  your  bills.  Farewell.  You  know  I  dislike 
scenes.  The  best  thing  for  a  man  and  woman,  when  they 
find  out  they  don't  love  each  other,  is  to  go  apart.  There, 
there,  Parisina,  no  tears.  If  I  furnished  you  with  a  bad  hus- 
band, I  have  now  supplied  a  better  article.  Read  French 
novels,  and  be  happy." 


TEE  TEA  GEE  T  D  ONE  IN  PE  OSE.  509 

Had  such  a  course  been  followed,  Parisina  and  her  lover 
would  have  become  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hugo,  and  perhaps  reared 
a  family.  They  would  have  gotten  along  prosaically,  but 
comfortably.  They  would  have  had  occasional  quarrels,  and 
he  would  have  staid  away  at  the  club  very  late  every  once  in 
a  while.  He  might  have  complained  about  expenses,  but 
she,  like  a  true  woman,  would  have  drowned  arithmetic  in 
tears,  and  received  a  larger  allowance  the  next  year. 

No  one  would  have  heard  of  their  story ;  scandal  would 
have  been  avoided,  and  instead  of  being  quoted  in  defence  of 
lawless  love,  and  injuring  the  cause  of  domestic  loyalty  by  their 
example,  they  would  have  been  regarded  as  a  model  pair 
who  kept  their  skeletons  in  their  own  closet,  and  gave  healthy 
children  to  the  state. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  They  were  made  to  expiate  the 
misfortune  of  temperament  and  circumstance,  and  the  senti- 
mental world  has  embalmed  their  memory  in  its  tears. 

They  manage  those  things  better  in  Chicago. 

Tasso's  prison  is  one  of  the  sights  of  Ferrara.  It  is  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  Hospital  of  St.  Anna,  and  is  visited  by  hun- 
dreds every  season.  The  story  runs  that  he  was  kept  there 
for  eighteen  years,  because  he  had  the  temerity  to  fall  in  love 
with  his  patron,  Duke  Alphonso's  sister.  Another  version 
is  that  he  was  really  insane,  and  a  third,  that  the  Duke  im- 
prisoned him  for  violent  abuse  heaped  upon  the  noble  family 
by  the  bard,  who  deemed  himself  badly  treated.  On  the  cell 
are  written  the  names  of  Byron,  Chateaubriand,  Lamartine, 
Casimir  Delavigne,  John  Smith,  D.  Wilkins  Jones,  P. 
Thompson,  and  a  host  of  other  celebrities. 

The  prison  is  interesting  to  those  who  believe  Tasso 
was  ever  in  it.  But  many  persons  who  have  investigated  the 
subject  hold  that  the  tale  is  a  fiction  ;  that  the  poet  was  not 
confined  there,  or  anywhere  else.  Goethe  and  DeStael  were 
among  the  skeptics,  and  there  is  excellent  reason  for  their 
skepticism.  All  the  Ferrarese  are  ready  to  make  affidavit  that 
the  author  of  "  Jerusalem  Delivered"  underwent  the  horrors 
of  a  long  captivity  in  the  identical  spot ;  but  I  fear  their  judg- 
ment is  biased  by  a  fondness  for  francs. 


510 


LUCREZIA  BORGIA'S  HOME. 


Lucrezia  Borgia's  palace,  in  the  Corso  del  Vittorio  Einan- 
nuele,  is  much  decayed,  and  several  of  the  doors  and  windows 
are  boarded  up.  She  lived  there  eighteen  years  with  her 
husband,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  who  must  have  had  a  pleasant 
matrimonial  existence.  Lucrezia  was  the  kind  of  companion 
who  would  not  grow  monotonous.  She  was  constantly  pre- 
paring agreeable  surprises  for  her  friends  in  the  way  of  cold 
steel  and  artistic  poisons.  Between  her  intrigues  and  assas- 
sinations, she  must  have  found  time  to  make  her  liege-lord 
very  happy — particularly  if  he  liked  a  quiet  life.  It  must 
have  been  interesting  for  him  to  lie  awake  at  night  to  con- 
jecture whether  she  would  stab  him  in  bed  or  poison  him  at 
breakfast.  We  have  few  such  accomplished  women  now-a- 
days.     The  world  is  losing  ground. 


CHAPTER  LXIY. 

LOMBARDY. 

HEN  a  small  boy  I  read  my  own  thoughts  in 
the  lines  of  Rogers's  colloquial  poem  : 

"  Are  those  the  distant  turrets  of  Verona ; 
And  shall  I  sup  where  Juliet  at  the  mask 
Saw  her  lov'd  Montague,  and  now  sleeps  by  him  V 

Shakespeare's  tragedy  also,  the  grandest  love 
poem  in  any'  language,  filled  me  with  longings 
to  see  the  city  where  the  passionate  daughter 
of  the  Capulets  lived,  loved,  and  died. 

I  had  all  kinds  of  sentimental  associations  with  Yerona — 
even  wrote  a  story,  full  of  soft  skies,  tender  tears  and  de- 
licious woes,  and  located  it  on  the  banks  of  the  Adige..  Ve- 
rona stood  to  me  for  Italy,  and  my  most  poetic  imaginings 
clustered  round  it.  I  dreamed  with  eyes  shut  and  eyes  open 
of  Verona ;  fancied  all  the  women  beautiful,  and  all  the  men 
gifted  and  knightly  who  had  the  rare  good  fortune  to  dwell 
in  that  favored  town. 

As  I  grew  to  manhood  and  skepticism  I  recovered  from  all 
such  notions,  and  knew  Verona  to  be  nothing  but  a  common- 
place Italian  city,  which  would  hardly  be  mentioned  in 
America  if  the  poet  of  all  time  had  not  made  it  immortal. 
But  still  I  wanted  to  visit  it  on  account  of  the  ideas  I  had 
had  in  boyhood. 

When  I  stepped  off  the  cars  I  found  myself  surrounded  by 
a  score  or  more  of  the  most  ragged  and  garlic-perfumed  vet- 
turini  I  had  encountered  in  all  Italy.  They  each  and  all  in- 
vited me  to  ride  in  their  cabriolets  behind  the  worst-looking 
beasts  I  had  seen  on  the  Continent.     Poor  quadrupeds,  1 


512  VERONA. 

pitied  them.  They  seemed  ashamed  of  themselves.  Not  one 
of  them,  could  he  have  spoken,  would  have  acknowledged 
himself  a  horse,  or  even  have  made  any  pretension  of  the 
sort.     Rosinante  was  a  Babieca  to  them. 

The  breathing  skeletons  stood  together  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine, with  the  hope  of  casting  a  shadow  ;  but  they  could 
not.  A  shadow  was  impossible  to  any  combination  of  such 
thinnesses  as  theirs. 

I  wanted  to  ride  ;  I  must  take  one  of  the  vehicles  and  one 
of  the  apologies  for  a  horse.  There  was  no  choice.  Where 
all  were  so  bad  it  would  have  been  idiocy  to  discriminate.  I 
engaged  a  cabriolet  after  making  an  agreement  with  the  vet- 
turino  not  to  make  me  pay  for  the  forlorn  quadruped  if  he 
should  happen  to  run  (I  use  run  for  rhetorical  effect)  against 
a  shadow  and  kill  himself.  So  we  started  at  a  snail-like 
speed,  and  with  difficulty  passed  three  large  buildings,  which 
we  shouldn't  have  done,  if  the  buildings  had  not  been  too  old 
to  get  out  of  the  way. 

The  streets  were  almost  deserted.  The  people  seemed 
stupid  and  common-place.  On  the  authority  of  William 
Shakespeare,  there  were  once  two  gentlemen  of  Yerona.  I 
think  they  must  have  died,  without  issue ;  as  I  looked  for 
them  or  their  descendants,  and  found  nothing  to  answer  their 
description. 

The  situation  of  Yerona  is  very  fine,  the  rushing  river  di- 
viding the  town,  the  varied  landscape  dotted  with  villas  and 
groves,  and  the  hills  and  mountains  purple  in  the  distance, 
giving  it  a  beautiful  setting.  The  modern  fortifications  are 
very  strong,  and  have  of  late  been  much  improved. 

The  principal  object  of  attraction  is  the  ancient  Roman 
amphitheater  in  the  center  of  the  city.  It  is  the  best  pre- 
served amphitheater  in  Italy,  and  is  very  interesting.  It  was 
probably  built  about  sixty  or  seventy  years  after  Christ,  and  was 
capable  of  containing  twenty  thousand  people.  It  is  of  mar- 
ble, has  forty  tiers  of  seats,  and  several  loges  or  boxes, 
evidently  for  persons  of  distinction.  An  arch  runs  com- 
pletely round  and  under  it,  and  in  this  arch  are  what  is  said 


THE  R  0  MA  N  AMPHITHEA  TER.  513 

to  have  been  prisons  for  condemned  persons,  and  cages  for 
wild  beasts  to  which  the  condemned  were  exposed. 

Churchists  of  this  age,  especially  the  Roman  Catholics,  are 
resolved  upon  the  massacre  of  a  great  many  Christians  by 
the  Roman  Emperors.  I  have  no  great  veneration  for  Tibe- 
rius, Caligula,  Nero,  Domitian,  and  other  such  royal  murder- 
ers ;  but  I  am  convinced  they  were  not  so  bad  as  repre- 
sented. I  have  no  doubt  they  put  to  death  a  number  of  the 
early  Christians.  It  was  one  of  their  habits.  They  consid- 
ered that  the  best  use  to  put  a  man  to  was  to  kill  him.  If 
they  had  not  slaughtered  the  Christians,  they  would  have 
been  discriminating  in  their  favor,  for  they  slaughtered  every- 
body else. 

The  churches  claim  to  have  ascertained  to  their  own  satis- 
faction that  thousands  of  the  early  Christians  were  made 
martyrs  in  the  Verona  amphitheatre  ;  but  there  is  no  au- 
thority, so  far  as  I  am  aware,  for  any  such  statement  or 
opinion. 

I  spent  several  hours  in  the  amphitheater,  and  it  lost  none 
of  its  interest  by  my  belief  that  wild  beasts  had  not  dined 
daily  on  Christians. 

There  are  ruins  of  a  large  aqueduct  near  the  amphitheater 
which  show  that  it  was  once  flooded  with  water  from  the 
Adige,  for  the  presentation  of  naval  sports  in  the  arena.  All 
the  indications  are  that  it  was  a  grand  establishment  in  its 
day.  The  Veronese  are  very  proud  of  the  arena,  as  they 
term  it,  and  have  taken  particular  pains  to  preserve  it. 

Many  of  the  arcades  are  now  occupied  by  mechanics  and 
small  tradesmen,  and  the  interior  is  used  for  exhibitions  of 
fireworks,  tight-rope  dancing,  and  feats  of  horsemanship.  In 
the  thirteenth  century  judicial  combats  were  decided  there, 
and  it  is  stated  that  the  Visconti  hired  it  out  for  duels, 
charging  twenty-five  lire  for  each  duel. 

After  the  amphitheater  the  Tombs  of  the  Scaligers  rank 
next  in  importance.  They  are  two  large  and  handsome 
monuments  adjoining  a  little  dingy  church,  and  present  the 
names  of  once  prominent  leaders,  who  would  not  otherwise 


514  THE  HOME  OF  JULIET. 

have  been  known  at  all.  One  of  them  was  so  anxious  to  be 
remembered  that  he  left  a  very  large  sum  for  the  erection  of 
a  column  over  his  ashes.  The  column  is  a  fine  specimen  of  the 
Gothic,  but  has  grown  so  dingy  and  has  crumbled  so  much  in 
the  several  centuries  it  has  stood  there  that  a  large  part  of  its 
beauty  is  lost.  In  the  enclosure  are  four  sarcophagi  of  sol- 
diers very  noted  in  their  time,  whose  names  can  not  now  be 
conjectured. 

Juliet's  tomb  it  was,  of  course,  my  duty  to  visit,  whatever 
doubt  there  may  be  of  its  genuineness.  So  I  drove  to  the 
place,  rang  a  bell  at  an  iron  gate,  paid  a  few  sous  to  a  slat- 
ternly girl  who  opened  it,  and  walked  through  an  arbor  cov- 
ered with  vines  to  the  hallowed  place.  I  had  no  idea  Juliet 
was  buried  there  ;  indeed,  I  felt  assured  her  tomb  had  been 
destroyed  years  before  ;  but  still,  when  I  looked  upon  the  horse- 
trough  they  show  for  the  last  resting  place  of  Juliet,  I  re- 
moved my  hat  for  the  local  association.  What  difference  if 
Juliet's  body  had  never  been  there  ?  In  Verona  she  lived ; 
in  Verona  she  died  ;  in  Verona  she  was  buried.  Her  spirit 
was  there  ;  her  memory  perfumed  the  spot  ;  her  history  filled 
the  world. 

Though  the  tomb  is  a  deception  for  a  mercenary  purpose, 
it  is  well  to  have  even  a  cenotaph  to  which  sentimental  pil- 
grims may  go  and  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  romantic  sensi- 
bility. 

"  Gentle  Juliet,  she  died  for  love,"  I  said  experimentally, 
in  Italian,  to  the  uneducated  girl  who  had  admitted  me.  Her 
face  changed  in  a  moment  ;  her  eye  moistened  as  she  an- 
swered, "  Si  Signore,  Giulietta  infelice." 

Women,  all  the  planet  over,  whether  high  or  low,  culti- 
vated or  ignorant,  on  this  or  the  other  side  of  the  sea,  are 
made  a  common  sisterhood  by  their  faith  in  love. 

Juliet's  house,  which  was  no  doubt  her  home  at  the  time 
of  her  melancholy  death,  is  pointed  out  in  the  Via  di  Santa 
Croce.  It  is  a  very  narrow  building  of  stuccoed  brick,  over 
a  gateway,  and  indicates  that  her  parents  could  not  have 
been  in  very  prosperous  circumstances.    I  remembered  the  pa- 


/    ROMEO  FORGOTTEN.  515 

latial  residence  Edwin  Booth  assigned  her  at  his  theater,  and 
could  not  help  drawing  the  contrast  between  the  real  and  the 
ideal. 

Where  art  thou,  Romeo  ?  The  question  may  well  be  asked  ; 
for  he  seems  forgotten  even  in  Verona.  "Why  should  Juliet 
be  remembered,  and  not  he  ?  It  is  certainly  more  remark- 
able for  a  man  than  for  a  woman  to  die  for  love,  and  Romeo 
ought  to  have  full  credit  for  his  romantic  suicide.  Poor  Ju- 
liet was  Mrs.  Montague,  to  be  sure  ;  but  that  is  no  reason  her 
husband  should  be  so  cruelly  ignored. 

I  never  quite  understood  why  Romeo  should  have  made  such 
an  ado  about  his  banishment  to  Mantua,  until  I  went  there 
myself.  It  was  Mantova  la  Gloriosa  in  his  time,  but  now-a- 
days  it  is  not  at  all  glorious.  On  the  flat  and  sedgy  banks 
of  the  Mincio,  surrounded  by  lakes  and  marshes,  very  strong, 
militarily,  and  very  unhealthy,  actually,  it  has  no  claims  to 
natural  beauty,  but  its  mediaeval  buildings  and  historic  asso- 
ciations still  draws  the  traveler  to  the  ancient  capital  of  the 
munificent  Gonzagas.  The  center  of  the  city  shows  consid- 
erable commercial  activity,  but  the  grass  grows  in  many  of 
the  streets,  and  the  palaces  and  public  edifices  bear  traces  of 
decay.  Mantua  has  no  large  squares,  but  vast  architectural 
piles,  hoary  battlemented  towers,  castles,  and  Lombard  arches 
vividly  recall  the  feudal  period,  and  give  it  a  novel  aspect. 
Its  population  is  increasing — remarkably  enough — and  is  now 
nearly  40,000,  but  during  the  reign  of  Giovanni  Francesco 
II.,  and  Frederico  II.,  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  century, 
it  must  have  been  more  than  twice  as  large  ;  for  Mantua 
was  then  one  of  the  richest  and  gayest  courts  of  Italy. 

The  Castello  di  Corte,  the  palace  and  fortress  of  the  Gonzagas, 
conspicuous  for  its  grand  machicolated  towers,  is  occupied  at 
present  as  public  offices.  The  immense  edifice  (it  contains 
over  five  hundred  apartments)  adjoining  the  Castello,  and 
generally  known  as  the  Palazzo  Imperiale,  has  had  more  in- 
vention and  ingenuity  of  architecture  exhausted  upon  it  to 
little  purpose  than  any  building  in  Italy.     The  frescoes  by 


516  MILAN. 

Giulio  Romano  are  some  of  them  very  good,  and  others  very 
inferior. 

I  had  some  curiosity  to  visit  the  Palazzo  del  Diavolo,  re- 
membering the  legend  that  it  had  sprung  up  in  a  single  night 
by  the  agency  of  the  Fiend.  It  has  a  desolate,  dreary, 
haunted  look  ;  but  this  effect  is  counteracted  by  its  present 
occupancy  as  shops  and  lodgings.  I  had  heard  that  it  was 
infested  by  genuine  and  unmistakable  ghosts,  who  produced 
blood-freezing  effects,  and  I  was  anxious  for  a  nocturnal  in- 
terview. But  on  inquiry  I  learned  the  ghosts  had  retired 
from  business,  owing  to  the  increasing  lack  of  confidence  in 
their  supernatural  character,  and  so  I  quitted  Mantua  in  deep 
disappointment. 

Why  do  ghosts  always  retreat  before  earnest  seekers  ?  I 
have  been  looking  for  them  the  world  over,  since  childhood, 
and  have  never  yet  been  able  to  find  even  one. 

Milan  is  so  modern  compared  to  the  other  cities  of  the 
country — thanks  to  the  numerous  wars  that  destroyed  all  her 
ancient  and  mediaeval  remains — has  such  an  air  of  bustle  and 
business,  and  contains  so  much  of  the  Parisian  element  and 
spirit  that  it  seems  more  French  than  Italian.  Still  Milan, 
unlike  its  neighbor  and  rival,  Turin,  consumes  a  week  most 
pleasantly.  It  has  fine  buildings,  churches,  picture-galleries, 
libraries,  theatres,  and  public  gardens ;  and  the  people  appear 
as  gay  and  as  fond  of  pleasure  as  they  are  on  the  Seine.  The 
central  attraction  of  the  city  is  of  course  the  Cathedral,  so 
beautiful  that  it  deserves  all  its  fame.  Everybody  has  seen 
photographs  of  the  church ;  but  no  one  can  form  a  just  idea 
of  its  magnificence,  its  elaborate  details,  and  its  superb  effects 
without  a  personal  visit.  I  fancied  its  towers  and  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  statues  would  give  it  an  overloaded,  if  not 
tawdry  appearance.  I  suspected  there  were  tricks  and  shams 
in  its  architecture,  and  that  the  whole  would  lack  fitness 
and  proportion.  I  was  agreeably  deceived.  Completeness, 
solidity,  symmetry,  and  harmony  particularly  distinguished 
the  structure.  It  is  marble  throughout ;  has  a  finished  and 
impressive  character,  even  from  the  exterior,  which  no  other 
church  has. 


THE  SPLENDID  CATHEDRAL.  517 

You  are  not  compelled  to  look  at  it  from  any  particular 
angle  or  point  of  view  to  appreciate  it.  It  is  grand  and 
beautiful  at  the  same  time,  and  its  grandeur  and  beauty  are 
so  blended  you  hardly  know  which  predominates.  As  a 
Gothic  structure  it  has  no  equal  in  Europe.  Milan  would 
be  worth  a  long  journey  if  it  contained  nothing  but  its 
cathedral.  Its  stained-glass  windows,  especially  those  behind 
the  altar,  are  really  gorgeous.  The  church  should  be  viewed 
outwardly  and  inwardly  under  the  sunshine  for  full  appre- 
ciation. The  ascent  of  the  principal  tower — three  hundred 
and  thirty-five  feet,  I  believe — enables  you  to  see  the  statues 
and  spires  in  their  completeness  of  detail,  and  gives  a  coup 
d'ceil  of  the  entire  building  that  cannot  be  had  from  below. 
There  are  galleries  running  all  over  the  upper  part  of  the 
structure,  forming  such  a  labyrinth  that  it  is  easy  to  lose  your 
way,  even  under  the  light  of  the  skies.  I  needed  fully  half 
an  hour  to  descend,  and  got  on  the  right  road  at  last  only  by 
discovering  that  every  other  one  was  wrong. 

From  the  principal  tower  you  have  a  pleasant  view  of  the 
city  and  surrounding  country.  You  see  Pavia,  the  Apennines, 
the  Alps,  including  Mount  Rosa,  Mount  Blanc,  and  the  Mat- 
terhorn — one  of  the  grandest  panoramas  I  remember  from  a 
spire. 

One  day  when  I  was  on  the  tower  there  was  a  grand 
thunder-storm.  I  saw  it  gathering  in  the  mountains,  and  the 
varied  cloud  effects — the  grand  chiaro-oscuro  of  Nature — 
with  the  wind,  the  lightning,  the  mists,  and  the  sweeping 
down  of  the  rain  from  the  Alps  into  the  valley,  was  a  sort  of 
meteorological  epic.  I  watched  the  storm  for  an  hour,  and 
was  charmed  with  the  disappearance  and  reappearance  of  the 
different  peaks  as  they  wrapped  and  unwrapped  themselves  in 
and  from  the  mantles  of  mist  and  the  gray  and  sombre  hoods 
of  the  clouds.  Once  in  a  while  the  sun  would  stream  through 
the  entire  mass  as  if  the  heavens  had  caught  fire  ;  then  the 
lightning  would  dart  down  the  inky  depths,  like  a  messenger 
of  flame  calling  upon  the  crags  to  speak,  which  they  did  in 
grumbling,  muttering,  bellowing,  crashing  voices.    The  wind 


518  DA   V1NCPS  LAST  SUPPER. 

blew  as  if  it  would  tumble  the  spires  among  which  I  stood, 
and  the  thunder  boomed  like  distant  cannon,  sometimes 
dying  gradually  away  amid  its  own  echoes,  reminding  one  of 
a  forest  of  lions  roaring  themselves  to  sleep. 

La  Scala  is  very  much  like  San  Carlo,  at  Naples,  in  the  in- 
terior arrangements,  and  will  hold  as  many  persons — five 
thousand.  It  has  five  tiers  of  boxes,  a  large  platea,  or  par- 
quette,  and  a  gallery  ;  is  simple  in  its  adornments,  and  will 
not  compare  in  elegance  or  beauty  with  some  of  the  New 
York  theatres.  The  stage  is  very  large,  and  has  a  double 
floor,  so  arranged  that  fountains  and  other  spectacular  aids 
can  be  introduced  with  fine  effect.  Some  of  the  operas,  to 
which  the  theatre  is  mainly  devoted,  and  the  spectacles  during 
the  carnival  are  presented  with  a  superb  mise  en  scene. 

Da  Vinci's  Last  Supper,  which  has  been  copied  oftener, 
perhaps,  than  any  other  fresco  in  the  world,  is  in  the  refectory 
of  a  former  Dominican  monastery.  I  knew  how  abominably 
the  painting  had  been  treated  by  other  persons  claiming  to  be 
artists ;  how  they  had  daubed  and  marred  it  under  pre- 
tence of  retouching  it ;  but  I  did  not  expect  to  find  it  in 
such  a  shocking  state  as  it  is.  The  wall  has  crumbled,  the 
fresco  has  peeled  off,  and  new  colors  have  been  so  plastered 
upon  it,  that  very  little  of  the  original  picture  remains.  To 
pretend  to  admire  it  now  for  anything  more  than  its  drawing 
is,  to  my  mind,  an  affectation.  In  a  very  few  years  not  a 
crumb  of  the  Last  Supper  will  be  left.  Peter,  and  John,  and 
Judas,  and  James,  once  depicted  with  such  a  master-hand, 
will  have  faded  into  eternal  night,  unless  one  of  the  miracles 
of  the  Church,  so  readily  and  successfully  produced  at  all 
seasons,  shall  restore  it  to  its  pristine  freshness.  The  art 
world  cannot  afford  to  lose  Da  Vinci's  chef  d'ceuvre,  and  I 
suggest,  therefore,  the  introduction  of  a  miracle  to  some  pur- 
pose. 


CHAPTER    LXV. 


DOWN    THE    DANUBE. 

HE  Danube,  rising  in  the  Black  Forest,  in  the 
Grand  Duchy  of  Baden,  at  an  elevation  of 
2,900  feet  above  the  sea,  and  flowing  in  its 
general  course  from  west  to  east,  a  distance  of 
1,000  miles,  empties  into  the  Black  Sea  by  four 
different  outlets.  The  great  river  is  very  crooked, 
and  with  all  its  windings  is  nearly  2,500  miles 
long.  Its  width  varies  greatly.  At  Ulm,  where  it  becomes 
navigable,  it  is  some  330  feet ;  in  Moldavia,  it  is  1,400  feet; 
in  Turkey,  over  2,000  feet  wide,  and  below  Hirsova,  in  Bul- 
garia, it  expands  like  a  sea.  It  may  be  considered  navigable 
for  steamers  from  Ulm  to  its  mouth  except  between  Drenkova 
and  Kladova,  where  it  is  interrupted  by  three  great  rapids ; 
but  navigation  is  often  difficult  by  reason  of  sandbanks  and 
shallows.  Before  the  introduction  of  steam,  in  1830,  the 
boats  descending  the  Danube,  so  swift  is  the  current,  were 
very  rarely  taken  back,  but  broken  up  at  the  end  of  the  voyage, 
as  flat-boats  are  on  the  south-western  rivers.  The  great 
stream  receives  in  all  some  sixty  navigable  tributaries,  and  its 
volume  of  water  is  equal  to  that  of  all  the  other  rivers  combined 
emptying  into  the  Black  Sea. 

The  picturesque  part  of  the  Danube  is  between  Linz  and 
Buda,  a  distance  of  about  300  miles,  and  it  is  over  this  part 
that  sight-seers  travel.  I  devoted  a  couple  of  hours  to  Linz, 
the  capital  of  Upper  Austria,  said  to  contain  27,000  or  28,000 
people,  though  its  appearance  does  not  indicate  that  it  has 


520  STEAMERS  AND  PASSENGERS. 

half  the  number.  The  Hauptplatz,  ascending  from  the  river, 
is  the  only  spacious  or  pleasant  street,  and  its  center  is  mark- 
ed by  the  ugly  Trinity  Column,  much  resembling  the  one  in 
Vienna.  It  was  erected  by  Charles  VI.  in  1723  to  commem- 
orate the  termination  of  hostile  invasions  and  the  ravages  of 
pestilence. 

The  Capuchin  Church  contains  the  tomb  of  Montecuccoli, 
the  well-known  Imperial  General  during  the  Thirty  Years' 
War. 

Near  the  town  is  a  fine  view  of  the  Danube  and  the  Alps 
of  Salzburg  and  Styria.  The  fortifications  of  Linz,  erected  at 
great  expense  about  twenty-five  years  ago,  are  being  removed. 
Our  late  war  showed  Austria  their  worthlessness ;  and  she, 
like  other  nations  of  the  Old  World,  is  taking  lessons  from 
the  New. 

The  steamers  for  Vienna  are  small,  something  like  those 
on  the  lesser  Swiss  lakes,  though  not  so  comfortable.  They 
are  often  crowded  during  the  spring  and  summer,  and  it  is 
troublesome  sometimes  to  get  a  seat  on  deck.  I  wedged  my- 
self in  between  two  fleshy  old  German  women,  or  rather  they 
sandwiched  me,  and  1  was  at  first  compelled,  though  it  was  a 
very  warm  afternoon,  to  admire  the  Danube  from  that  disad- 
vantageous position.  I  had  no  idea  of  finding  such  a  variety 
of  people  on  the  Danube  steamers.  The  passengers,  particu- 
larly after  quitting  Vienna,  were  made  up  of  Germans,  Bohe- 
mians, Hungarians,  Poles,  Americans,  Greeks,  and  Turks, 
representing  the  Protestant,  Catholic,  Greek,  and  Mohamme- 
dan creeds.  They  were  of  all  grades  of  society,  too — mer- 
chants, soldiers,  tourists,  professional  men,  diplomats,  specu- 
lators, adventurers,  priests,  and  nondescripts.  Many  of  the 
men  and  women  were  curious  studies ;  and  I  wove  out  of  the 
impressions  they  gave  me  material  enough  for  many  illustra- 
tions of  the  peculiarities  of  human  nature. 

Below  Linz  the  right  bank  of  the  Danube  is  flat,  but  numer- 
ous islands  make  the  river  picturesque,  and  in  an  hour  you 
have  a  view  of  the  mountains.  Near  Asten  are  the  Augustine 
Abbey  of  St.  Florian,  one  of  the  oldest  in  Austria,  and  the 


NOTED  PERSONS  AND  PLACES..  521 

castle  of  Tillysburg,  erected  on  the  site  of  the  one  presented 
by  the  Emperor  Ferdinand  to  General  Tilly  during  the  Thirty 
Years  War.  On  one  of  the  islands  is  the  ruin  of  Spielberg, 
another  ancient  and  historic  castle.  Still  further  down  are 
the  castle  of  Pragstein,  projecting  into  the  stream,  and  vari- 
ous romantic  ruins  followed  by  a  contraction  of  the  stream  as 
it  flows  through  high,  wooded  mountains. 

At  Grein,  ridges  of  rock  jut  out  into  the  river,  making  the 
Greiner  Schwall  a  surging  water.  In  that  vicinity  the  Dan- 
ube has  palpably  worn  its  way  through  the  solid  granite,  and 
is  soon  divided  by  a  large  island  called  Werth.  It  is  impeded 
by  vast  rocks,  and  is  forced  into  three  channels,  through  one 
of  which,  the  Strudel,  only  thirty  or  forty  feet  broad,  the  river 
runs  like  a  rapid.  There  the  boat  descends,  and  requires 
skillful  piloting  to  prevent  its  going  to  pieces  on  the  project- 
ing rocks. 

An  hour  after  you  reach  the  ruined  castle  of  Werfenstein, 
and  opposite  it  another,  the  ancient  robber  stronghold  of 
Struden ;  then  a  whirlpool,  little  more  than  a  rapid  of  late 
years ;  then  grand,  rocky  landscapes,  chateaus,  crumbling 
old  abbeys  and  watch-towers.  Near  Saussenstein  is  a  pil- 
grimage church,  Maria  Taferl,  on  an  eminence  of  fifteen 
hundred  feet,  which  is  visited  annually  by  a  hundred  thousand 
devotees. 

At  Pochlarn,  some  miles  below,  is  located  the  traditional 
residence  of  Rudiger,  who,  according  to  the  Nibelungen-lied, 
entertained  Chrimhilde  most  sumptuously  when  she  was 
journeying  to  the  land  of  the  Huns.  He  was  a  very  noted 
person,  as  I  remember  the  wild  romance  of  the  Lied,  passing 
his  time  in  guzzling  wine,  cutting  throats  and  running  off 
with  other  men's  wives.  He  used  to  think  nothing  of  routing 
single-handed  an  army  or  two  before  breakfast,  and  set  as 
much  store  by  what  he  called  his  honor  as  a  New  York  mil- 
lionaire does  by  a  five-dollar  bill. 

At  Melk,  or  Molk,  is  the  immense  Benedictine  Abbey,  sev- 
eral times  besieged,  and  still  having  the  bastions  Napoleon 
strengthened  after  the  battle  of  Aspern.      A  once-dreaded 


522  CITY  OF  PRESSBURG. 

robber  castle  is  at  Aggstein,  where  the  chieftain  had  a  pleas- 
ant habit  of  outraging  the  beautiful  women  (all  outraged 
women  are  beautiful  somehow)  who  fell  into  his  hands,  after 
which  he  cut  their  hearts  out  and  ate  them  broiled — a  bit  of 
carnivorous  sentiment  that  ought  to  find  admirers,  as  it  has 
literary  imitators  in  Swinburne  and  others  of  the  supersensual 
school.  Then  come  more  churches,  abbeys,  ruined  castles, 
and  robber  dens,  scenes  of  battle,  siege  and  fable — enough  to 
satisfy  the  greatest  lover  of  romantic  variety. 

The  broad  part  of  the  Danube  does  not  touch  Vienna  ;  but 
you  go  to  it  by  an  arm  or  branch  called  the  Viennese  Danube, 
serving  the  purpose  of  a  canal,  which  many  visitors  have 
supposed  to  be  the  famous  river  in  its  fulness.  From  Vienna 
you  take  a  small  steamer,  and  are  transferred  to  a  larger  one 
when  you  reach  the  main  arm,  a  distance  of  several  miles. 

You  are  soon  at  Lobau,  the  island  where  the  Austrians  and 
the  French  had  the  hard  fight  in  1809,  and  pass  the  villages, 
somewhat  inland,  of  Epling,  Aspen,  and  Wagram,  memorable 
in  the  Napoleonic  wars.  At  Deutsch-Altenburg  is  a  fine 
ruin,  and  at  Hamburg  there  are  many  decayed  walls  and 
towers,  and  a  stone  carving  of  King  Etzel,  who,  the  Niebelun- 
gen-lied  says,  spent  some  time  thereabouts. 

You  pass  Pressburg,  the  old  capital  of  Hungary,  where  the 
Magyar  kings  were  crowned — now  a  dull  city,  with  little  to 
make  it  attractive. 

The  extensive  castle  at  the  summit  of  the  Schlossberg  was 
burned  down  more  than  fifty  years  ago ;  but  the  view  from 
that  height,  embracing  the  plains  of  Hungary  and  the  wind- 
ings of  the  Danube,  is  the  chief  attraction  at  Pressburg.  The 
Cathedral  (with  a  wooden  tower),  consecrated  in  1452,  and 
said  to  have  been  founded  by  St.  Ladislaw,  was  the  church 
designed  for  the  coronation  of  the  Hungarian  kings,  but  has 
no  architectural  attractions.  Near  the  bridge  of  boats  is  a 
slight  artificial  elevation,  walled  in  and  closed  by  a  gate, 
called  the  Konigsberg.  On  this  the  new  king,  after  his  cor- 
onation, rode  his  horse,  brandishing  the  sword  of  St.  Stephen 
towards  the  four  points  of  the  compass  to  evince  his  deter- 


HUNGARIAN  AND  CITY  LIFE.  523 

urination  to  defend  his  country  from  enemies  from  whatever 
quarter. 

The  plains  of  Hungary,  which  you  reach  after  Pressburg, 
are  fertile  but  dreary-looking,  all  their  towns  and  villages 
seeming  to  belong  to  a  past  age.  The  river  is  full  of  mills, 
made  by  anchoring  two  boats  in  the  stream,  building  a  small, 
rude  house  on  one,  placing  a  wheel  between  the  two,  and 
submitting  it  to  the  action  of  the  current.  The  thing  is  very 
simple  and  cheap,  and  I  am  surprised  some  of  the  Western 
farmers  on  the  White,  Missouri,  Tennessee,  and  Arkansas 
rivers  have  not  done  something  of  the  same  sort. 

The  Danube  is  often  divided  into  several  arms,  making  isl- 
ands, some  of  them  very  large,  as  the  Grosse,  which  is  55  miles 
long  and  33  broad,  and  contains  as  many  as  a  hundred 
villages.  Gonyo,  a  village  almost  entirely  of  thatched  houses, 
is  at  the  extremity  of  the  Lesser  Schiitt,  and  near  by  is  Raab 
(Gyor  in  Hungarian),  a  city  of  17,000  inhabitants.  Just 
above  Komorn,  at  some  distance  from  the  river,  is  the  rich 
Benedictine  Abbey  of  Martinsberg,  which,  being  on  a  height, 
is  plainly  visible  from  the  steamboat. 

The  ancient  town  of  Komorn  is  a  very  strong  fortress  (pop- 
ulation 18,000)  with  extensive  tetes-de-pont  on  the  bank  of 
the  Waag,  which  there  falls  into  the  Danube.  The  fortifica- 
tions, greatly  extended  during  the  last  sixty  years,  were 
originally  planned  and  built  by  Matthew  Corvinus. 

Further  down  is  a  low  range  of  hills  covered  with  vine- 
yards. Gran,  near  the  junction  of  the  river  Gran  with  the 
Danube,  is  conspicuous  for  the  dome  of  its  cathedral — some- 
what resembling  St.  Peter's — on  an  elevation  and  overlooking 
the  town  of  12,000  people.  In  that  neighborhood  the  channel 
contracts,  running  through  porphyry  and  limestone  rocks 
which  make  the  scenery  more  picturesque.  The  old  walls  of 
the  fortress  of  Wissegrad  extends  down  to  the  river.  The 
castle  was  destroyed  by  the  Turks,  and  its  fortifications  after- 
ward dismantled  by  the  Emperor  Leopold.  The  Hungarian 
kings  occupied  it  as  early  as  the  eleventh  century,  and  it  is 
still  an  interesting  ruin.     The  hills  now  recede  ;  the  river 


524  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  RIVER. 

turns  south ;  is  divided  into  two  arms ;  passes  the  town  of 
Waitzen,  and,  as  the  banks  become  flatter,  you  see  rafts, 
barges,  and  local  steamboats,  showing  the  approach  to  Pesth 
and  Buda  (Ofen).  These  with  their  lofty  structures,  the  fine 
suspension  bridge,  the  fortress,  the  royal  palace,  and  the 
Blocksberg,  as  they  come  fully  into  view,  recall  Prague  and 
the  Heradschin,  and  make  a  beautiful  picture  as  the  sun  is 
sinking,  and  flooding  the  cities,  the  river,  and  landscape  with 
purple,  crimson,  and  gold. 

The  Danube  combines  many  of  the  striking  features  of  the 
upper  and  lower  Mississippi,  the  Ohio,  the  St.  Lawrence,  and 
the  Hudson,  with  historic  associations  and  mediaeval  ruins 
which  they  cannot  have.  To  enjoy  it  completely  one  should 
be  well  acquainted  with  history,  and  be  able  to  recall  the  ex- 
travagant fables  of  the  famous  Lied.  The  Danube  is  like  the 
Rhine,  the  Elbe,  and  the  Moselle,  and  with  its  islands,  rapids, 
mountains,  vineyards,  green  slopes,  and  picturesque  ruins, 
may  be  said  to  excel  any  one  of  them  in  variety.  I  have  often 
heard  Strauss  and  his  band  play  "  The  Beautiful  Blue 
Danube  Waltz "  at  the  Volksgarten.  The  blueness  of  the 
river  is  a  poetic  fiction ;  for  it  is  very  brown  at  all  seasons  of 
the  year.  Still  the  muddy  Danube  would  not  sound  well,  and 
melody  must  be  consulted  in  the  arrangement  of  music. 

Below  Pesth  and  Buda  the  river  loses  its  varied  and  at- 
tractive features.  In  Transylvania  it  runs  through  an  im- 
mense plain, — only  400  feet  above  the  sea  level,  without  any 
undulations.  Large  streams  with  marshy  banks  flow  into  it 
through  flat  land  interspersed  with  stagnant  pools  and  sandy 
wastes.  Below  Moldavia  it  is  for  sixty  or  seventy  miles  a 
succession  of  rapids  and  shallows,  bordered  by  rocks  and 
sandbanks,  and  in  Servia  it  is  interrupted  by  three  great 
rapids,  the  lowest  of  which,  known  as  the  Iron  Gate  cataract, 
rushes  in  a  narrow  channel  through  stupendous  rocks,  ending 
in  eddies,  whirlpools,  and  a  series  of  small  falls.  So  it  con- 
tinues, spreading  and  spreading,  the  banks  growing  more  and 
more  marshy,  and  often  overflowed,  until,  largely  increasing 
its  volume,  it  is  lost  at  last  in  the  Black  Sea. 


CHAPTER    LXVL 

AUSTRIA   AND    HUNGARY. 

■IENNA  is  very  handsomely  laid  out,  and  is 
hardly  equaled  by  any  capital  of  Europe  in 
the  magnificence  of  its  buildings  and  its  prin- 
cipal streets.  I  was  not  prepared  to  see  a  city  so 
fine  materially,  and,  I  may  add,  so  uninteresting 
mentally.  It  has  galleries  of  art,  various  collec- 
tions, beautiful  gardens,  excellent  music,  and  yet 
it  seems  tiresome.  There  is  something  oppressing  in  the  at- 
mosphere which  made  me  desirous  to  get  away  as  soon  as  I 
had  seen  all  its  noticeable  features.  Vienna  is  called  a  Ger- 
man Paris ;  but  it  is  far  more  German  than  Parisian.  The 
citizens  dress  well,  are  externally  polite  and  painfully  decor- 
ous ;  but  they  appear  to  a  stranger  supremely  dull.  No  one 
appears  to  enjoy  himself  or  herself.  Vivacity  is  unknown, 
and  animation  interdicted.  In  the  first  place,  the  hotels  and 
restaurants  are  very  poor,  which  is  a  great  dissatisfaction  to 
strangers.  Secondly,  nobody  seems  to  have  any  acquaint- 
ance with  the  city,  and  if  he  has,  he  cannot  convey  his  intel- 
ligence clearly.  Thirdly,  and  mainly,  nobody  knows  anything 
about  anything,  and  seems  absorbed  in  evolving  stupidity  from 
his  inner  consciousness. 

The  fiaker-drivers,  after  you  have  explained  to  them  for 
half  an  hour  where  you  want  to  go,  will  pretend  to  under- 
stand, and  then  drive  you  in  the  wrong  direction.  If  you 
wish  to  visit  a  church  they  will  take  you  to  a  beer  garden ;  if 
a  picture  gallery,  to  the  police  office ;  if  a  palace,  to  the  rail- 
way station ;  if  the  bankers,  to  the  cemetery.     It  may  be  sup- 

(525) 


526  vjexxa. 

posed  this  is  done  to  get  another  fare,  but  it  is  not,  for 
the  fellows  hurry  off  as  soon  as  they  have  set  you  down. 
They  are  dishonest  enough — fully  as  much  so  as  their  intel- 
ligence will  admit ;  but  they  have  not  sufficient  ingenuity  to 
make  a  florin  by  a  trick.  They  really  don't  know  the  differ- 
ence between  the  Arsenal  and  the  Belvidere,  the  Ambras  Col- 
lection and  the  Albertina,  the  Prater  and  the  Polytechnic 
Institute. 

The  waiters  are  no  better.  They  are  dumber  than  the 
Pyramids.  Ask  them  for  a  glass  of  beer  even,  and  they  look 
as  perplexed  as  if  you  had  demanded  they  should  solve  the 
Schleswig-Holstein  question.  Order  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  they 
repeat  the  phrase  wonderingly,  as  though  you  had  given  them 
an  Egyptian  riddle. 

This  is  almost  an  exact  transcript  (translated)  of  a  dia- 
logue I  had  with  a  waiter  in  a  fashionable  cafe* : 

"  Have  you  cigars  ?  " 

"Cigars?"  ,  . 

"  Yes ;  good  cigars." 

"Good?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  good  cigars." 

"  Cigars  ? " 

"  Certainly.     Don't  you  understand  what  a  cigar  is  ?  " 

"  Understand  ? " 

"  Do  tell  me  if  you  have  any  good  cigars." 

"  Cigars,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes;  c-i-g-a-r-s  ;  you  know  what  that  means,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  understand  very  well. " 

"  Then  get  me  some  at  once." 

"  Certainly,  right  away." 

The  fellow  was  gone  fifteen  minutes,  and  came  back  with 
an  ancient  almanac. 

The  women  in  Vienna  are  the  comeliest  Germans  I  have 
seen.  They  have  finer  features,  better  figures,  and  show  more 
taste  in  dress,  than  is  common  among  the  Teutonic  nations. 
They  look  like  the  French,  but  are  without  their  tact,  quick- 
ness, or  perception.     Their  manners  are  good,  but  negative. 


A  SUPERB  CITY.  527 

They  do  nothing  to  offend,  but  they  have  no  power  to  charm. 
They  all  so  act  after  a  pattern,  that  one  might  infer  they  had 
been  drilled  by  a  sergeant  of  the  Imperial  Guards.  They  do 
not  appear  to  have  any  emotional  life,  and  yet  there  are,  no 
doubt,  many  fierce  volcanoes  under  those  fair  mounts  of  snow. 
There  is  a  Vesuvius  in  every  woman's  being,  and  there  is 
always  some  man — usually  some  men — who  can  cause  an 
eruption  which  may  be  delightful  or  terrible  in  its  consequen- 
ces. 

The  Inner  City,  as  it  is  called,  is  filled  with  stately  build- 
ings, fine  churches,  imposing  bronze  monuments,  handsome 
gardens,  and  elaborately  laid  out  grounds.  The  architectural 
display  is  extraordinary,  and  I  cannot  but  think  the  deplora- 
ble financial  condition  of  the  country  is  partially  attributable 
to  the  lavish  expenditure.  There  are  miles  of  houses  which 
would  be  called  palaces  anywhere  else,  and  acres  upon  acres 
of  the  most  valuable  land  are  devoted  to  squares  and  promen- 
ades. 

The  New  Opera  House,  which  has  been  recently  opened,  is 
a  specimen  of  the  imperial  mode  of  doing  things  there.  Ex- 
cepting the  unfinished  Opera  House  in  Paris,  the  Karnthner- 
thor  is  by  long  odds  the  finest  in  the  world.  Naples,  Milan, 
Berlin,  St  Petersburg,  London,  have  nothing  like  it  in  com- 
pleteness, extent,  or  richness.  It  bristles  with  gilding,  carv- 
ing, frescoes,  and  marbles,  and  cost,  I  understand,  twenty 
millions  of  florins — about  ten  millions  of  dollars.  The  great 
objection  to  it,  as  to  all  the  Continental  theatres,  is  its  total 
lack  of  ventilation ;  the  boxes  being  so  enclosed  that  not  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  can  get  into  the  house,  even  if  it  had  an 
order  for  admission  from  the  Emperor  himself. 

The  sights  of  the  City  are  numerous,  but,  with  some 
exceptions,  not  very  interesting.  The  collections  of  pictures, 
as  the  Czernin  and  Harrach,  are  inferior,  though  the  Liech- 
tenstien  and  Belvedere,  particularly  the  latter,  are  very  good. 
The  Ambras  collection  and  the  antiquities  in  the  lower  Bel- 
vedere, the  cabinets  of  coins,  and  minerals,  and  natural  his- 
tory, are  what  every  European  traveler  has  already  become 
familiar  with. 


528  THE  GARDEN  CONCERTS. 

The  churches  are  hardly  worth  the  trouble  of  inspecting, 
St.  Stephen's  excepted,  which  is  a  fine  specimen  of  Gothic, 
recalling  the  Cologne  Cathedral,  though  much  smaller.  The 
tombs  of  the  Emperor  Frederic  the  Fourth  and  Prince  Eugene 
of  Savoy  are  interesting,  of  course  ;  but  the  others  are  either 
apocryphal  or  associated  with  superstition.  The  tower,  430 
feet  high,  commands  a  fine  view,  iucluding  the  battlefields  of 
Lobau,  Wagram,  and  Essling. 

The  cemeteries  are  not  remarkable,  but  as  they  contain  the 
graves  of  Gluck,  Schubert,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven,  they 
will  attract  everyone  who  loves  the  memory  of  the  great 
composers,  and  feels  that  their  music  has  made  it  immortal. 
The  Treasury  is  very  rich,  abounding  in  ornaments,  ivory  ear- 
rings, sculptures,  precious  stones,  and  countless  curiosities. 
As  might  be  expected,  you  are  shown  the  lance  thdt  pierced 
the  side  of  Christ,  and  the  nails  and  fragments  of  the  cross, 
which  long  ago  ceased  to  interest  me,  as  I  have  seen  enough 
of  them  to  make  a  small  lumber-pile  and  set  up  a  respectable 
hardware  establishment.  The  sword,  crown,  girdle,  alb, 
stole,  dalmatica,  and  sceptre  of  Charlemagne  (no  one  who 
pays  the  full  fee  is  obliged  to  believe  them  veritable)  are  ex- 
hibited, having  been  brought  from  his  tomb  at  Aix  la 
Chapelle.  The  jewels  are  handsome  and  of  great  value,  par- 
ticularly a  diamond  (once  the  property  of  Charles  the  Bold), 
weighing  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  carats,  and  an  emerald, 
cut  as  a  vase,  weighing  nearly  2,800  carats. 

The  garden  concerts  are  among  the  most  agreeable  resorts 
in  Vienna.  They  are  given  almost  nightly  at  the  Volks- 
garten  ;  on  the  Burgglacis ;  at  Dommayer's  in  Hietzing,  and 
at  Rudolfsheim,  by  Strauss,  Weghuber,  Sperl,  and  other 
leaders  of  note.  Some  of  the  gardens  are  beautifully  laid 
out,  and  attended  by  the  best  class  of  people.  For  fifty  to 
eighty  kreutzers  you  can  hear  all  the  great  composers  rendered 
by  the  ablest  musicians.  Not  a  few  of  the  women  in  attend- 
ance are  quite  handsome — very  different  from  the  ordinary 
German  type — and  almost  all  dress  as  they  would  at  the 
opera  or  an  evening  party.    They  would  appear  to  more  ad- 


ENVIRONS  OF  THE  CITY.  599 

vantage,  to  my  mind,  if  they  would  eat  less,  and  be  more  in- 
different to  beer.  I  should  suppose  that  Mozart  might  be  ap- 
preciated without  cold  ham  and  cabbage,  and  that  Mendels- 
sohn could  be  enjoyed  apart  from"  brown  bread  and  cheese. 

The  Prater,  the  favorite  park  of  the  Viennese,  is  intersected 
by  five  avenues,  of  which  the  Wurstelprater  is  the  haunt  of 
the  lower  classes,  who,  on  holidays  and  Sundays,  enjoy  them- 
selves most  vigorously.  During  the  season  the  display  of 
equipages  in  the  Prater  is  brilliant. 

The  environs  of  the  city,  as  Schonbrunn  (where  the  Duke 
of  Reichstadt  is  buried),  Laxenburg,  the  Briihl  and  Baden,  are 
exceedingly  pleasant,  and  easily  reached  by  omnibus  or  rail- 
way. 

Vienna  is  growing  rapidly,  and  now  has  a  population,  in- 
cluding the  suburbs,  of  670,000.  It  is  said  to  have  been 
originally  an  ancient  settlement  of  the  Celts  or  Wends  ;  then 
it  became  a  Roman  town,  Marcus  Aurelius  having  died  there 
A.  D.  180.  It  fell  successively  into  the  power  of  the  Huns, 
the  Rugii,  and  Heruli,  the  Ostrogoths,  and  other  barbarous 
hordes.  In  1276  it  was  taken  from  the  King  of  Bohemia  by 
Rudolph  of  Hapsburg,  and  has  been  governed  by  that  family 
ever  since.  In  1519  the  Emperor  Maximilian  I.  invited  the 
Kings  of  Poland,  Hungary,  and  Bohemia  to  a  banquet  in  the 
imperial  city,  and  so  arranged  the  marriages  of  his  children 
that  Bohemia,  Hungary,  and  Moravia  fell  to  the  crown  of 
Austria  ;  thus  gaining,  as  a  verse  of  the  time  ran,  by  the  in- 
fluence of  Venus  what  had  long  been  denied  to  Mars. 

Pesth  is  thoroughly  Hungarian.  The  streets  have  Hunga- 
rian names,  and  the  majority  of  the  people  are  unable  to 
speak  German,  or  even  to  understand  the  simplest  question 
in  that  language,  as  I  found  in  making  inquiries  about  public 
buildings  or  well-known  localities.  The  Hungarians,  or  Mag- 
yars, as  they  prefer  to  be  called,  are  evidently  a  different  race 
from  the  Austrians,  with  whom  they  have  little  sympathy, 
and  for  whom  they  have  no  affinity.  They  keep  up  all  their 
traditions  and  ancient  customs,  and  have  their  own  costume, 
still  wearing  top  boots,  soft  hats  (turned  up  all  round  and 
34 


530  PESTH  AND  THE  HUNGARIANS.. 

adorned  with  feathers) ,  and  embroidered  garments,  with  which 
Kossuth  and  his  suite  made  us  so  familiar  twenty  years  ago. 
They  frequent  their  own  cafe's;  have  their  own  newspapers, 
their  own  amusements,  and  their  own  society.  They  seem  to 
have  very  little,  if  any,  association  with  the  Austrians,  albeit 
the  latter  have  adopted  a  very  conciliatory  course  since  the 
revolution  of  1848,  and  the  title  of  their  sovereign  is  Emperor 
of  Austria  and  King  of  Hungary.  Many  of  the  Hungarians 
have  entered  the  army  in  which  there  are  regiments,  com- 
posed exclusively  of  Magyars,  and  their  patriotism  and  na- 
tional self-love  have  been  so  adroitly  appealed  to  that  they 
are  now  considered  very  loyal  to  Francis  Joseph. 

The  Hungarians  are  less  cultivated  and  enlightened  than 
the  Austrians,  but  they  are  quicker,  intenser,  and  naturally 
more  intelligent.  They  are  more  warlike,  too,  and  with  equal 
advantages  would  be  likely  to  be  victorious  over  the  dominant 
nation  of  slower  mind  and  more  sluggish  blood.  They  are  like 
the  Poles — brave,  restless,  and  impetuous,  but  have  not  ad- 
vanced very  far  in  the  arts  of  peace,  and  have  done  little  to 
develop  their  country.  They  have  much  of  the  old  barbaric 
blood,  and  seem  to  prefer  change  and  turbulence  to  settled 
conditions  and  the  spirit  of  progress. 

Their  peasantry  are  very  much  as  they  were  a  hundred 
years  ago.  They  wear  the  same  half  Oriental  costumes ;  have 
a  barbaric  fondness  for  ornaments,  and  are  delighted  with 
trifles.  But  under  all  this  is  a  strong,  fierce  spirit — that  of 
the  ancient  Huns — which  will  always  be  formidable  in  war. 

Pesth  is  the  most  important  commercial  town  in  Hungary ; 
has  numerous  handsome  buildings,  several  fine  churches,  in- 
cluding a  handsome  Synagogue,  a  national  museum,  the  val- 
uable Esterhazy  collection  of  pictures,  and  many  objects  of 
interest.  It  has  obtained  all  its  importance  during  the  last 
seventy  or  eighty  years,  and  bids  fair  to  become  a  rival  of 
Vienna.  It  is  the  seat  of  a  university,  which  was  removed 
here  from  Tyrnau  in  1780,  and  has  a  thousand  students. 

The  four  annual  fairs  held  in  the  city  are  the  events  of 
Pesth.     They  furnish  the  greater  part  of  the  Hungarians  with 


Tilt  ANCIENT  CITY  OF  BUD  A.  531 

the  means  of  living.  They  bring  honey,  wax,  wool,  raw 
hides,  and  slibowitza — a  species  of  brandy  made  from  plnms 
— and  sell  these  articles  at  very  remunerative  rates.  The 
fairs  are  times  of  great  festivity,  and  sometimes  not  unlike 
the  once  famous  Donnybrook  in  the  scenes  accompanying 
them.  The  Hungarians  have  a  fondness  for  strong  drink, 
particularly  for  their  slibowitza,  and  on  those  occasions  they 
often  get  drunk  and  fight.  The  liquor  makes  them  very  pa- 
triotic, and  they  frequently  express  their  opinion  of  their  Aus- 
trian rulers  in  exceedingly  emphatic  terms. 

It  is  said  that  the  seeds  of  the  revolution  of  1848  were 
sown  at  one  of  the  fairs.  Francis  Joseph  has  entertained  the 
idea  of  suppressing  the  four  annuals,  but  he  has  learned  that 
it  would  not  be  good  policy.  To  abolish  the  fairs  would,  I 
believe,  bring  all  Hungary  into  open  revolt.  The  slibowitza 
I  drank  a  little  of  to  try  it.  It  is  rather  sweet,  but  very  fiery 
and  deceptious.  Small  as  the  quantity  was,  it  affected  my 
brain,  and  when  I  lay  down  at  night — ten  hours  after — I 
dreamed  of  killing  my  grandmother  in  jest.  I  don't  believe 
the  Hungarian  brandy  exercises  a  pacific  influence. 

One  of  my  objects  in  visiting  Hungary  was  to  get  some  of 
the  Imperial  Tokay,  of  which  I  had  heard  so  much.  It  has 
the  reputation  of  being  the  best  wine  made,  and  a  small  bottle 
costs  ten  florins — about  five  dollars  in  gold.  It  is  sweet  and 
strong,  something  like  a  liqueur,  but  not  particularly  good. 
The  truth  is,  there  is  no  delicious  wine  in  Europe,  or  anywhere 
else.     The  ideal  wine,  like  other  ideals,  can  never  be  found. 

Buda,  or  Ofen,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Danube,  is  connected 
with  Pesth  by  a  fine  suspension  bridge.  It  has  but  fifty-six 
thousand  people,  nearly  all  Germans,  and  yet  it  is  twenty 
times  as  old  as  the  latter  city.  It  was  once  a  Roman  colony ; 
was  conquered  by  Sultan  Soliman  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
and  remained  in  the  power  of  the  Turks  for  a  century  and  a 
half. 

The  only  reminiscence  of  its  Mussulmanic  history  is  a 
small  Turkish  mosque,  of  octagonal  form,  with  a  turret  and 
crescent,  erected  over  the  grave  of  a  noted  monk,  who  was 


532  THE  FATHER  OF  ROSES. 

called  the  "  Father  of  Roses."  I  am  sorry  he  is  dead,  for  lie 
is  much  needed  in  Buda,  which  is  not  at  all  fragrant.  If  he 
were  to  be  resuscitated,  he  would  find  few  of  his  children,  and 
little  to  remind  him  of  them.  When  the  Continentalists  have 
any  fathers  of  roses  they  ought  to  keep  them  alive  as  long  as 
possible — that  is,  if  the  fathers  have  any  perfuming  or  disin- 
fecting power.  The  Continentalists  have  any  number  of  saints 
embalmed ;  but  the  air  they  breathe  is  not  embalmed  in  the 
least.     I  wish  most  heartily  it  might  be.   ■ 

Opposite  the  suspension  bridge  rises  the  castle  hill,  through 
which  a  very  long  tunnel  leads  to  the  Horvathgarten,  in  which 
theatrical  and  other  performances  are  given  in  the  open  air. 
The  Fortress,  with  the  handsome  royal  chateau,  is  on  the  top 
of  the  hill  about  which  the  town  is  built.  The  Hentzi-Platz 
contains  the  monument  to  General  Hentzi  and  other  officers 
who  died  in  defending  the  fortress  against  the  Hungarians. 
From  the  summit  of  the  Blocksberg  is  a  fine  view  of  the  river 
and  the  towns  on  either  side.  Though  Buda  is  hardly  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Vienna,  it  has  always  seemed 
to  me  very  far  from  the  more  frequented  cities  and  centers  of 
civilization,  possibly  because  I  have  associated  it  with  King 
Etzel,  or  Attila,  who  is  supposed  to  have  had  his  stronghold 
and  headquarters  where  the  ancient  city  now  stands. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

DOWN   IN   THE    WIELICZKA    SALT    MINES. 

HE  most  celebrated  and  productive  salt  mines 
A^=j4  in  the  whole  world  are  those  of  Wieliczka,  in 
>^  Galicia  or  Austrian  Poland,  ten  miles  from 
Cracow.  My  main  object  in  going  to  that  city 
was  to  visit  the  salt  mines,  which  you  can  do  any 
day  by  obtaining  a  ticket  of  admission  at  the 
-r**  >$  Chateau  of  Wieliczka,  and  by  the  payment  of  a 
certain  number  of  kreutzers  to  the  officials  and  the  workmen. 
The  mines,  connected  with  those  of  Boclmia,  the  next 
railway  station,  are  said  to  be  entered  by  eleven  shafts  ;  but 
the  principal  one,  which  I  went  down,  is  generally  known  by 
way  of  distinction  as  the  entrance  shaft.  The  greatest  depth 
of  the  mines  is  eight  hundred  feet,  though  it  is  sometimes 
stated  to  be  over  a  thousand.  They  have  seven  different 
levels  or  stories,  one  above  the  other,  connected  by  countless 
passages,  flights  of  steps  and  bridges.  Never  having  been 
down  in  a  salt  mine,  I  had  some  little  curiosity  to  know  how 
the  descent  was  made.  I  very  soon  found  out.  After  being 
placed  in  charge  of  two  very  rough-looking  fellows — they 
seemed  as  if  they  might  have  lived  under-ground  all  their 
lives,  and  only  to  have  escaped  to  the  surface  of  the  earth  at 
that  particular  time — I  was  taken  to  the  mouth  of  the  pit. 
So  I  was  told  at  least,  but  I  could  see  nothing  of  the  great 
hole  in  the  ground  for  which  I  was  anxiously  looking.  Be- 
fore me,  however,  was  a  piece  of  machinery  resembling  a 
complicated  windlass,  and  while  I  was  wondering  what  it  was 
for,  a  large  trap-door  was  removed,  revealing  the  mouth 
of  the  shaft. 

(533) 


534 


DOWN  THE  SnAFT. 


My  conductors  lighted  their  torches — they  appeared  very 
much  like  old-fashioned  lard  oil  lamps — and  motioned  to  me 
that  they  were  all  ready.  I  supposed  from  their  appearance 
that  they  were  Poles,  and  as  I  have  never  been  very  fluent  in 


DOWN    THE    SHAFT. 


the  Polish  tongue,  I  fancied  they  would  not  be  able  to  con- 
vey to  me  a  great  deal  of  intelligence.  I  discovered  later, 
however,  that  they  knew  some  German,  and  as  I  knew  a  little 
also,  we  got  along  quite  comfortably.  I  found  that  the  ap- 
paratus for  letting  us  down  in  the  mine  was  a  species  of  iron 


SALT  CHAMBERS.  535 

basket,  in  which  we  sat  with  our  legs  hanging  outside,  and 
holding  to  ropes  fastened  above  to  a  ring  encircling  an  iron 
shaft.  This  ring  slipped  smoothly  down  the  shaft,  carrying 
us,  clinging  to  the  ropes,  down  with  it.  The  entrance  to  the 
mines  was  something  like  a  well,  though  rather  square  than 
round ;  and  as  we  sped  downward,  the  feeble  light  of  the 
torches  rather  increased  than  lessened  the  darkness,  and 
flashing  fitfully,  and  throwing  shadows  here  and  there,  made 
it  seem  as  if  the  ropes  that  held  us  had  snapped  asunder. 
But  I  had  no  fears  of  that  kind — indeed,  I  doubt  if  any  well- 
balanced  man  has  such  apprehensions  of  absurd  possibilities 
as  travelers  and  adventure-seekers  are  inclined  to  represent. 
I  had  no  idea  of  the  depth,  which,  appeared  much  greater 
than  it  was  from  the  silence  and  the  darkness  that  surrounded 
me.  I  did  not  know  but  we  might  be  going  to  the  lowest  depth 
of  the  mines,  and  when  we  stopped  in  our  downward  course, 
I  was  surprised  to  learn  that  we  were  little  more  than  two 
hundred  feet  below  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

Then  our  real  journey  began.  One  of  the  torch-bearers 
went  before,  and  the  other  behind  me,  as  we  walked  over  a 
wooden  bridge,  and  down  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  through  sev- 
eral passages,  all  cut  out  of  what  appeared  to  be  solid  rock 
veined  with  quartz.  I  asked  the  guides  to  'stop,  and  lifting 
up  a  torch,  saw  that  what  I  had  taken  for  quartz  was  rock 
salt,  and  that  most  of  the  rock  was  green  salt,  as  it  is  called, 
being  largely  mixed  with  clay. 

After  walking  up  and  down,  right  and  left,  and  left  and 
right,  we  entered  a  considerable  cavity,  which  reminded  me 
somewhat  of  the  Star  Chamber  in  the  Mammoth  Cave.  This 
had  been  hewn  out  by  the  workmen,  I  was  informed,  and 
after  they  had  gotten  all  the  salt  contained  in  the  stratum, 
they  had  abandoned  it  for  another  field  of  operations.  I  no- 
ticed in  the  chamber  several  crosses,  an  altar,  and  a  number 
of  images — intended,  I  presume,  for  saints — which  were  made 
of  rock  salt,  and  which  looked  beautiful  while  the  light  of  the 
torches  fell  upon  them. 

"We  went  on  again,  over  more  bridges,  down  more  flights 


536  MEN  WORKING   WITH  THEIR  EYES  SHUT. 

of  steps,  through  more  passages,  until  we  reached  what  the 
guides  styled  the  river.  It  wasn't  enough  of  a  river  to  do 
any  harm,  however,  and  better  deserved  the  name  of  a  pool. 
It  was  just  such  a  river  as  the  Lethe  or  the  Styx  in  the  great 
Kentucky  cave,  and  we  crossed  it  in  just  such  a  boat — a 
muddy  scow,  which  might  have  been  built  in  the  earliest  in- 
fancy of  navigation.  The  guides  in  a  few  seconds  pushed  the 
boat  over  with  poles,  and  we  got  out  on  another  bridge,  and 
began  descending  one  of  the  longest  and  worst  series  of  steps 
I  had  encountered.  At  the  bottom  we  branched  off  into  a 
crooked  passage,  at  the  end  of  which  was  still  another  tire- 
some and  rickety  flight  of  stairs.  I  believed  we  were  get- 
ting further  and  further  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  so 
we  were,  as  I  learned  from  one  of  the  grim  fellows,  who  said 
we  were  some  four  hundred  feet  under  ground.  I  examined 
tlje  walls  about  me,  and  could  plainly  perceive  that  they  had 
more  of  a  crystal  appearance  than  they  had  had  ;  the  crystal, 
of  course,  being  the  veins  of  rock  salt. 

One  thing  which  had  astonished  me  was,  that  we  had  met 
so  few  workmen.  We  had  passed  them  here  and  there, 
using  pickaxes  and  crowbars,  but  nothing  like  the  number  I 
had  expected  to  find.  The  reason,  as  I  learned  by  inquiry, 
was,  that  the  parts  through  which  we  had  gone  had  been 
mostly  worked  out,  and  the  laborers  had  been  removed  to 
lower  and  richer  strata.  About  twenty  minutes  later,  we  ob- 
served several  men  making  a  new  passage.  They  had  just 
begun  it,  and  were  lying  down  on  their  backs,  and  striking 
their  picks  into  the  salt  overhead.  One  might  believe  that 
the  falling  particles  would  have  destroyed  their  sight,  and  so 
they  would  no  doubt,  had  not  the  men  drawn  a  kind  of  coarse 
hat  over  their  faces,  and  shut  their  eyes,  while  they  employ- 
ed their  implements  actively.  This  was  the  first  instance  I 
had  observed  of  men  doing  work  effectively  with  their  eyes 
shut. 

After  crossing  several  more  pools  or  rivers — there  are  at 
least  twenty  of  these,  formed  by  the  percolations  of  water 
through  the  strata — we  entered  a  very  large,  open  space,  some 


DAZZLING  EFFECT  OF  FIRE  WORKS. 


537 


four  hundred  feet  broad,  and  at  least  a  hundred  feet  high, 
known  as  the  Chamber  of  Letow ;  and  fifteen  minutes  later, 


another  of  still  greater  dimensions,  the  Chamber  of  Michel- 
awic.  These  were  fitted  up  like  chapels,  having  altars,  can- 
dlesticks, statues,  chairs,  thrones,  and  various  kinds  of  orna- 
ments, all  cut  out  of  rock  salt. 

Before  I  left  Cracow,  I  had  purchased  some  fire-works — 
blue  and  red  lights,  serpents,  and  Catharine  wheels — as  I  had 
been  advised  to  do  if  I  were  going  into  the  mines.  I  did  not 
have,  I  confess,  a  very  clear  idea  as  to  what  I  was  going  to 


5C3 


A  REAL  FAIRY  SCENE. 


do  with  them.  But  when  I  was  inside  of  those  large  cham- 
bers, and  after  one  of  the  guides  had  lighted  a  number  of 
lamps  on  an  altar,  I  was  very  glad  indeed  I  was  provided  with 
the  fire-works.  The  lamps  had  a  remarkable  effect,  and  the 
burning  of  the  red  and  blue  lights  transformed  the  chamber 
into  a  grotto  of  diamonds.  The  spectacle  was  really  splendid. 
From  every  part  of  the  walls,  with  their  uneven  surfaces,  were 
reflected  again  and  again  the  rays  of  light,  until  the  place 


w¥'% 


was  a  blaze  of  radiance  and  glory.     It  was  more  like  a  fairy 
scene  than  anything  else,  and  the  thought  that  it  was  six 


TIIE  INFERNAL  LAKE.  539 

hundred  feet  or  more  under  ground,  amid  natural  darkness 
and  silence  and  desolation,  added  to  the  wonder  of  the  vision. 
I  should  never  have  believed  that  two  such  simple  things  as 
light  and  rock-salt,  acting  upon  each  other,  could  produce 
such  a  miracle  of  splendor.  The  serpents  and  Catharine 
wheels  appeared  to  great  advantage  after  all  the  lights  were 
either  extinguished  or  removed.  I  certainly  never  enjoyed 
so  much  such  a  slender  stock  of  fire-works.  The  darkness 
was  so  intense  as  to  be  almost  tangible,  and  when  the  ser- 
pents and  wheels  were  whizzing  through  it,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  whole  night  of  the  earth  were  compressed  into  that  small 
and  pitchy  compass. 

The  larger  of  the  chambers,  Michelawic, — it  is  over  a  hund- 
red feet  square, — is  dedicated,  I  understand,  to  St.  Anthony. 
Once  every  year,  on  the  third  of  July,  a  grand  mass  is  cele- 
brated in  the  chamber,  or  chapel,  as  it  is  usually  considered, 
and  afterward  a  banquet  is  given  of  the  most  sumptuous  char- 
acter. Whenever  any  members  of  the  imperial  family  visit 
the  mines,  the  most  extensive  preparations  are  made  to  re- 
ceive them.  The  principal  passages  and  chambers  are  bril- 
liantly illuminated ;  the  workmen  are  given  a  holiday,  and 
festivals  are  held,  in  which  they  participate.  These  are  long 
remembered  by  the  poor  laborers,  who  then  receive  gratuities, 
and  have  what  they  regard  as  a  most  pleasurable  time. 

The  Infernal  Lake — a  large  pool  of  water  some  seven  hund- 
red feet  long,  three  hundred  feet  wide,  and  forty  dee}) — par- 
ticularly impressed  me.  I  went  out  upon  it  in  a  boat,  and 
burned  some  of  the  fire-works,  while  a  number  of  the  work- 
men awoke  the  echoes  of  the  dreary  place  by  crying  "  Gluck 
Auf,  Gluck  Auf,"  (Welcome,  Welcome),  until  the  cavern 
seemed  peopled  with  invisible  imps  and  demons  screaming 
with  sardonic  satire  to  the  last  victim  they  had  ensnared. 
There  certainly  was  something  bitterly  ironical  in  the  idea  of 
associating  that  gloomy  pool  and  pit  with  a  welcome  of  any 
sort.  I  have  been  told  that  the  workmen  sometimes  show 
the  words  "Gluck  Auf"  in  illuminated  letters  in  an  arch  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  lake ;  but  they  did  not  do  so  on  the  oc- 


540 


A  DEMON  CHORUS. 


casion  of  my  visit — whether  because  they  were  less  enterpris- 
ing than  usual,  or  because  they  thought  a  single  sight-seer 


THE    INFERNAL    LAKE. 


would  not  remunerate  them  sufficiently  for  their  trouble,  I 
have  never  been  able  to  determine. 

After  getting  back  to  the  land  again,  twenty  or  thirty  of  the 
fellows  who  had  taken  part  in  the  diabolical  chorus  of  "  Gluck 
Auf,"  came  up  to  me,  repeating  the  words,  and  holding  out 
their  hands.  The  guides  swore  at  them  in  a  vile  gibberish, 
and  made  a  feint  of  driving  them  away.  I  understood  this 
as  a  mere  ruse,  and  gave  the  unfortunates  the  kreutzers  they 
were  so  desirous  to  set. 


QUALITY  AND   QUANTITY  OF  SALT  541 

During  the  remainder  of  the  journey,  I  saw  a  great  many 
of  the  workmen,  who  were  getting  out  the  salt  very  much  as 
coal  is  gotten  out — with  bars  and  picks.  In  the  lowest  re- 
gions, where  we  then  were,  the  salt  was  much  purer,  being 
sometimes  in  solid  blocks  as  clear  and  white  as  crystal.  The 
laborers  were  muscular  and  stalwart  fellows,  with  very  little 
intelligence  in  their  faces  generally,  and  their  features  for  the 
most  part  coarse  and  harsh.  They  were  usually  stripped  to 
the  waist,  and  many  of  them  were  entirely  naked,  except  a 
cloth  about  their  loins.  Nearly  all  the  workmen,  I  believe, 
are  Poles,  poor  and  ignorant,  of  course,  who  pass  their  lives 
in  the  mines,  toiling  night  and  day  for  barely  enough  to 
keep  body  and  soul  together.  Their  pay  varies  from  thirty 
kreutzersto  a  florin  a  day,  very  few  earning  the  latter  amount. 
I  was  constantly  importuned  for  trinkgeld,  and  having  pro- 
vided myself  with  considerable  copper  coin,  I  was  astonished 
to  see  with  what  delight  two  or  three  kreutzers  were  received. 

The  salt  varies  a  great  deal  in  quality.  The  so-called  green 
salt  contains  six  or  seven  per  cent,  of  clay,  which  destroys  its 
transparency.  Another  sort,  sjriza,  is  crystalline,  but  mixed 
with  sand,  while  the  perfectly  pure,  szybik,  is  found  in  large 
crystallized  masses.  The  general  yield  of  the  mines  is,  I 
think,  about  500,000  tons  annually,  valued  at  twenty  florins 
or  ten  dollars  per  ton,  making  the  revenue  $5,000,000.  When 
the  mines  were  discovered  is  not  known,  though  it  is  certain 
that  they  have  been  worked  nearly  nine  centuries. 

After  spending  three  or  four  hours  in  the  mines,  and  seeing 
all  the  features  worth  seeing,  I  retraced  my  steps,  and  went 
out  the  same  way  I  came  in.  I  might  have  passed  two  or 
three  weeks  under-ground,  if  I  had  traversed  all  the  passages 
and  excavations,  whose  combined  length  is  over  three  hundred 
miles.  The  extent  of  the  mines  from  east  to  west  is  about 
thirty-two  hundred  yards,  and  from  north  to  south  fourteen 
hundred  yards.  It  is  easy  to  examine  the  mines  satisfactorily 
in  two  hours,  if  one  be  in  haste ;  but  the  time  occupied,  how 
ever  long,  is  not  likely  to  be  regretted. 


CHAPTER    LXVIII. 

HOLLAND. 

OLLAND  is  eminently  a  land  of  honest  labor 
and  steady  habits.  Much  like  Germany  in 
many  respects,  it  is  very  different  from  it  in 
others,  and  has  qualities  and  peculiarities  that 
are  entirely  its  own.  The  name  Holland,  mean- 
ing the  marshy  land,  is  well  bestowed,  as  the 
country  has  been  almost  entirely  formed  by  the 
mud  of  its  three  great  rivers — the  Rhine,  the  Meuse,  and  the 
Scheldt — mixed  with  the  sand  banks  thrown  up  by  the  ocean 
at  their  capacious  mouths.  Naturally  a  great  morass,  it  has 
been  made  not  only  habitable,  but  extremely  fertile  by  the 
excessive  industry  and  unfailing  perseverance  of  its  people. 
As  is  well  known,  the  sea  coast,  where  it  is  not  lined  by  the 
upheaval  of  vast  sand  banks,  is  protected  by  immense  dykes 
„built  partly  of  granite  brought  from  Norway,  and  partly  of 
timbers,  fagots,  turf,  and  clay.  These  dykes  or  embankments 
— usually  70  feet  broad  at  the  base,  30  feet  high,  and  wide 
enough  at  the  top  for  a  roadway — have  been  built  at  a  cost  es- 
timated not  to  be  far  from  $ 2,000,000,000,  and  are  main- 
tained at  an  annual  expense  of  over  $2,000,000. 

Everybody  knows  what  fierce  and  heroic  wars  the  Nether- 
lands waged  with  the  Spaniards  for  their  religion  and  their 
independence,  and  every  one  can  see  in  the  two  separate 
kingdoms  of  to-day  the  energy  and  determination  which  made 
the  ancestors  of  the  present  population  such  sturdy  soldiers 
and  such  unflinching  patriots.  Belgium  has  lost  the  name 
of  Netherlands,  which  still  clings  to  and  is  the  official  title  of 
Holland.     No  wonder  the  Hollanders  are  warmly  prejudiced 


ARNI1E1M.  543 

in  favor  of  their  country,  since  for  many  generations  they 
have  been  perpetually  struggling  to*  keep  it  from  rapacious 
enemies  and  the  inexorable  sea. 

The  little  kingdom  is  very  different  from  what  it  was  in  its 
days  of  naval  supremacy,  when  Admiral  Yon  Tromp,  with 
brooms  at  his  mast-head,  sailed,  insolent  and  victorious,  in 
the  English  Channel,  and  threatened  to  sweep  the  British 
from  the  seas.  Its  historic  glory  has  been  dimmed,  and  it 
has  lost  many  of  its  rich  possessions ;  but  it  is  still  a  very  in- 
teresting country,  and  its  3,500,000  of  inhabitants  illustrate 
what  industry,  sobriety,  and  thrift  can  accomplish  under  cir- 
cumstances the  most  adverse. 

The  first  town  in  which  I  tarried,  after  crossing  the  Ger- 
man frontier,  was  Arnheim,  capital  of  the  province  Gelder- 
land,  situated  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine.  Arnheim  has 
a  population  of  28,000  or  30,000,  is  very  ancient,  and  re- 
nowned in  history  as  the  place  where  Sir  Phillip  Sydney  died 
in  1586,  from  a  wound  received  at  the  battle  of  Zutphen.  I\ 
is  very  well  built,  and  has  a  church,  in  which  the  Dukes  o\ 
Gelderland  are  buried  ;  but  is  chiefly  noted  as  the  residence 
of  many  of  the  Dutch  nobility  and  wealthy  merchants,  whose 
handsome  country  houses  and  gardens  adjacent  to  the  city 
give  it  an  air  of  remarkable  comfort  and  pleasantness.  Many 
of  the  gardens  in  the  suburbs  are  elaborately  laid  out,  but 
with  a  regularity  and  precision  that  enforce  an  air  of  stiffness 
and  artificiality  which,  however  much  admired  by  the  natives 
is  not  quite  agreeable  to  a  stranger  fond  of  variety.  The  city, 
for  its  size,  is  the  wealthiest  in  Holland,  the  fortunes  of  some 
of  its  citizens  being  estimated  as  high  as  810,000,000  or 
$12,000,000.  Little  business  is  done  there  beyond  a  mere 
local  trade,  as  the  town  is  given  over  in  a  great  measure  to 
the  recreation  and  enjoyment  of  the  rich  residents  who  have 
retired  from  active  life.  Consequently  merry-making  and 
pleasure-seeking,  though  in  a  very  sober  way,  are  the  chief 
pursuits  of  fashionable  Arnheim,  which  at  all  favorable  sea- 
sons lounges  and  smokes,  drinks  and  talks,  dines  and  dances, 
according  to  the  exactions  of  the  busy  tyrant  known  as  so- 
ciety 


544  UTRECHT. 

Utrecht,  also  on  the  Rhine,  where  the  Yecht  branches  off, 
is,  with  its  58,000  people,  an  important  city  carrying  on  con- 
siderable trade,  by  means  of  the  rivers  and  the  two  canals  by 
which  it  is  traversed,  and  across  which  are  28  stone  bridges. 
Its  manufactures  of  cotton,  woollen,  and  plush — the  last  is 
called  Utrecht  velvet — are  extensive  and  profitable.  The  old 
walls  have  been  pulled  down  and  converted  into  pleasant 
walks,  and  beyond  the  walls  is  a, fine  promenade,  the  Malie- 
baan  planted  with  eight  rows  of  lime  trees,  bordered  by  hand- 
some gardens,  and  having  several  foot  and  carriage-ways. 
When  Louis  XIV.  was  ravaging  the  country  he  admired  the 
trees  so  much  that  he  gave  special  orders  that  they  should  be 
spared.  In  the  audience  hall  of  the  University  was  signed, 
in  1579,  the  act  of  confederation  declaring  the  Seven  United 
Provinces  independent  of  Spain,  and  in  the  British  Minister's 
house,  which  has  been  replaced  by  a  barrack,  the  famous 
treaty  of  Utrecht  ending  the  war  of  the  Spanish  succession 
was  signed  in  1713. 

The  Cathedral,  the  tower  on  the  one  side  and  the  church  on 
the  other,  is  the  most  noted  building,  and  from  the  top  of  the 
tower,  390  feet  high,  a  most  commanding  view  is  obtained. 

The  Dutch  have  singular  places  of  abode,  I  thought,  when 
I  learned  that  the  sexton  of  the  church  lived  with  his  family 
in  the  tower,  about  200  feet  above  the  ground.  He  has  re- 
sided there,  he  told  me,  for  many  years,  and  in  that  airy  hab- 
itation all  his  children  have  been  born.  He  is  a  thorough 
Hollander,  industrious,  contented,  domestic,  and  supernatu- 
rally  fond  of  his  pipe,  which  he  often  carries  to  bed  with  him. 

Six  miles  from  Utrecht  is  a  Moravian  colony,  and  near  it 
the  mound  erected  by  3,000  soldiers,  under  the  command 
of  Marshal  Grammont,  in  memory  of  the  day  on  which  Bo- 
naparte was  crowned  Emperor. 

Traveling  through  Holland  I  was  struck  by  the  difference 
between  the  general  aspect  of  that  country  and  any  other  in 
Europe.  Its  surface  is  so  flat,  and  its  canals  and  windmills 
— these  are  said  to  number  12,000  in  all,  with  sails  on  an  av- 
erage 8  feet  broad  and  100  feet  long — are  of  such  regular  and 


LAND  OF  WINDMILLS.  545 

constant  recurrence  that  the  scenery  would  be  monotonous 
and  tedious  but  for  its  unique  character.  If  Don  Quixote  had 
traveled  through  Holland,  instead  of  Spain,  to  fight  wind- 
mills, which  he  mistook  for  cruel  giants,  he  would  have  found 
his  imaginary  foemen  on  every  hand,  and  could  hardly  have 
hoped,  even  with  his  stout  heart  and  crazed  brain,  to  have 
come  off  victorious  against  such  tremendous  odds.  I  have 
known  persons  who  thought  that  the  Dutch  depended  upon 
windmills  because  they  were  so  conservative  and  economical. 
This  is  all  a  mistake.  They  use  windmills  largely  for  drain- 
ing purposes,  as  a  substitute  for  steam  and  water  power.  They 
could  not  have  steam  without  wood  or  coal,  which  they  would 
be  compelled  to  import,  and  their  sluggish  canals  and  rivers 
have  not  current  enough  to  set  in  motion  the  wheel  of  a  toy 
mill.  It  is  not  much  trouble  or  much  expense  to  make  four 
long  sails,  and  the  wind,  which  sweeps  from  the  ocean  over 
the  deltas  of  the  great  rivers,  besides  costing  nothing,  is 
in  almost  perpetual  supply. 

An  air  of  industry  and  thrift  pervades  everything.  I  can 
hardly  remember  to  have  seen  a  single  idle  Dutchman.  He 
is  always  busy  about  something,  however  trifling  and  unim- 
portant, that  something  may  appear  to  others.  His  fields  are 
well  drained  and  carefully  cultivated  ;  his  meadows  rich,  and 
his  gardens  productive  as  labor  and  art  can  make  them.  Beg- 
gars and  drunkards  are  almost  unknown  in  the  Netherlands, 
where  everybody  minds  his  own  affairs,  and  deems  it  the  first 
of  duties  to  take  care  of  himself.  His  life  for  the  most  part,, 
particularly  if  a  town  resident,  is  sedentary,  except  in  winter, 
when  skating  and  sledding  become  absorbing  amusements. 
The  climate  is  much  colder  than  in  similar  latitudes  in  Great 
Britain,  and  the  months  of  December,  January,  February,  and 
often  March,  are  very  severe.  The  canals  and  rivers  are  then 
solidly  frozen,  and,  inland  commerce  being  entirely  sus- 
pended, many  persons  have  leisure  for  recreation,  which  under 
different  circumstances  a  conscientious  practicality  would  not 
allow  them  to  take.     Very  little  can  be  said,  by  the  bye,  in 

favor  of  the  climate,  which  varies   from  23°   below   zero  to 
35 


546  DISAGREEABLE  CLIMATE. 

102°  above.  I  presume  it  is  healthy — it  is  certainly  disa- 
greeable enough  to  be,  for  the  Dutch  as  a  nation  are  very 
ruddy  and  robust ;  but  it  is  not  attractive  nor  agreeable  at 
any  season,  being  damp,  raw,  chilly  or  cold  during  eight 
months,  and  hot  and  unwholesome  during  the  remaining  four 
months  of  the  year. 

The  Dutch,  who  are  models  of  patience,  never  show  it  more 
than  in  their  amateur  inland  fishing,  a  favorite  pastime,  if  it 
may  be  called  such,  which  I  have  always  supposed  must  be 
followed  from  principle  rather  than  for  any  definite  purpose. 
When  I  first  went  to  Holland  I  was  under  the  impression  that 
certain  festivals  were  observed  by  the  casting  of  hooks  and 
lines  into  any  attainable  body  of  water  which  required  to  be 
watched  from  daylight  until  dark.  I  fancied  that  I  had  ar- 
rived on  those  festival  days,  but  as  week  after  week  went  on, 
and  there  was  no  variation  in  the  water -watching  and 
pole-and-line  devotion,  I  made  inquiry  concerning  the  singular 
custom,  and  learned  to  my  surprise  that  all  those  eccentric 
Dutchmen  labored  under  the  hallucination  that  they  were  fish- 
ing. So  they  were,  and  have  been  for  generations  no  doubt, 
but  catching  is  beyond  their  wildest  conjecture. 

Though  having  only  slender  sympathy  with  quaint  Sir 
Isaac's  special  weakness,  I  began  after  awhile  to  feel  an  interest 
myself  in  the  national  angling.  Wandering  about  the  country 
and  through  the  towns,  I  never  failed  to  pause  and  fix  my  at- 
tention upon  any  man  who  held  a  pole  with  a  line  at  the  other 
end,  dropped  into  the  water.  I  did  this  persistently  and  ha- 
bitually, and  never  yet  have  I  beheld  any  single  Dutchman  or 
combination  of  Dutchmen  catch  a  fish  even  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant kind.  I  am  bound  to  believe  that  the  Hollanders 
who  seldom  work  without  a  purpose  must  be  sometimes  pisca- 
torially  rewarded  ;  but  this  is  a  matter  of  faith  rather  than 
of  reason.  My  natural  and  skeptical  self  will  insist  that  not 
a  fish  is  to  be  found  in  all  the  canals  and  rivers  of  the  Neth- 
erlands ;  but  if  there  be  any  such  oviparous  vertibrate  animal 
it  is  too  wise  to  bite,  or  too  ingenious  to  be  caught. 

I  know  there  are  Dutch  herring  by  the  million ;  that  the 


FISHING  ON  PRINCIPLE.  547 

fishery  has  been  called  the  Dutch  gold  mine,  and  1  have  seen 
them  brought  by  the  wagon  load  into  Amsterdam  (the  com- 
mon people  say  its  foundations  are  laid  on  herring  bones), 
but  they  are  captured  on  the  coasts,  and  have  no  relatives,  I 
am  sure  in  the  interior  waters. 

I  observed  a  burly  fellow  fishing  one  day  in  a  canal,  and 
noticed  with  astonishment  that  he  seemed  to  have  a  bite.  He 
evidently  did  not  expect  anything  so  phenomenal.  His  stolid 
face  flushed,  his  dull  eye  sparkled.  His  pipe  dropped  from 
his  mouth,  and  I  imagined  from  his  general  appearance  he 
was  about  to  have  a  fit,  caused  by  so  unheard-of  an  occur- 
rence as  the  actual  biting  of  a  fish.  I  waited  and  watched. 
There  was  no  mistake  about  it.  With  my  own  eyes  I  saw 
the  cork  go  under  several  times.  The  angler  had  by  this 
time  grown  crimson.  His  phlegmatic  frame  trembled  with  ex- 
citement ;  he  leaned  forward  in  anxious  expectation.  Then 
he  drew  his  line  obliquely  to  the  left,  and  in  a  few  seconds  a 
strange-looking  object  flew  through  the  air,  and  was  landed 
on  the  quay.  I  ran  to  the  spot,  unwilling  to  quit  the  country 
without  being  recompensed  by  the  vision  of  at  least  one  pis- 
catorial success.  The  singular  fish  was  a  drowned  cat,  in 
which  the  hungry  hook  had  fastened,  inspiring  ardent  expec- 
tations in  the  persistent  angler  that  were  never  to  be  realized. 

The  Dutch  cottage,  though  not  very  inviting  at  first,  with 
its  massive  roof  of  thatch  and  rather  damp  appearance  is  a 
model  of  neatness.  If  you  enter  you  will  find,  however 
humble  the  abode,  that  all  the  wood-work  is  scrupulously 
clean  ;  that  every  vessel  is  bright  and  shining,  and  that  no 
atom  of  soil  or  dirt  rests  on  anything.  Very  frequently  the 
stork  has  a  nest  on  the  top  of  the  gable,  and  may  be  heard 
there  chattering  to  her  newly-fledged  family.  Storks  are  very 
numerous  ;  rfemain  from  the  middle  of  May  to  the  middle 
of  August ;  are  great  favorites  with  the  people,  and  pro- 
tected by  law.  In  spite  of  the  plainness  and  simplicity  of  the 
Dutch  cottages  there  is  something  picturesque  in  them  as  they 
are  seen  at  the  bend  of  a  canal,  peeping  out  from  the  screen 
of  willows  or  tall  weeds  as  if  they  or  their  inhabitants  were 


548  DUTCH  COTTAGES. 

amphibious,  while  the  sunshine  or  clouds  overhead  make  the 
needful  light  and  shade  to  complete  the  landscape. 

The  Hollanders  are  exceedingly  domestic,  even  more  so 
than  the  Germans.  They  marry  early,  unless  unusually  op- 
pressed by  poverty,  and  rarely  fail  to  have  large  families. 
The  first  incentive  to  a  little  money-getting  with  a  young  man 
in  that  country  is  that  he  desires  to  take  a  wife,  and  when 
he  has  one,  and  becomes  the  father  of  several  children,  he  is 
contented  with  the  slenderest  income.  He  regards  his 
thatched  cottage  as  if  it  were  a  splendid  palace,  and  looks  out 
upon  the  drowsy  canal  as  though  it  were  a  crystal  stream,  on 
which  were  floating  to  him  every  bark  of  joy  and  peace. 

The  Hollander  is  rather  romantic  in  his  domesticity,  and 
with  it  all  his  sentimental  associations  and  promises  of  the 
future  are  interwoven.  As  soon  as  he  gets  beyond  the  neces- 
sity of  living  from  day  to  day,  and  has  put  by  a  little  surplus, 
he  fixes  his  thoughts  upon  and  centers  his  hope  in  a  garden- 
house.  This  somewhat  resembles  an  English  box  in  the 
country,  though  it  is  smaller,  and,  like  everything  else  in 
Holland,  unequivocally  unique.  The  garden-house  to  which 
the  honest  Dutchman  repairs  with  his  family  every  Saturday 
evening,  and  where  he  remains  in  undisturbed  and  smoky  en- 
joyment until  Monday  morning,  is  usually  a  little  wooden 
building,  brightly,  often  tawdrily  painted,  and  labeled  on  the 
front  in  gilt  letters,  "  My  Quiet  Abode,"  "  Rustic  Retreat," 
"  Peaceful  Haven,"  or  "  Home  of  the  Heart."  The  domestic 
dovecote,  in  which  sundry  plump  round-faced  and  noisy  doves 
in  white  pinafores  and  immaculate  short  breeches  are  ever 
prominent,  is  generally  on  the  border  of  a  canal,  inclosed  on 
three  sides  by  oozy  ditches,  skirted  by  hedges.  The  patch  of 
ground  is  filled  with  vegetables  and  flowers  of  every  produca- 
ble  kind.  The  garden-house  and  its  surroundings  are  inva- 
riably conspicuous  for  color,  for  which  the  Dutch  and  Flem- 
ish painters  have  long  been  noted.  The  tiny  retreat  is  some- 
times dazzlingly  white,  sometimes  brilliantly  green,  at  others 
radiantly  blue,  or  startlingly  vermilion.  Then  the  members 
of  the  household,  particularly  the  feminine  ones,  are  clad  in 


TEE  GARDEN  HOUSE.  549 

varied  and  positive  hues,  while  the  extreme  greenness  of  the 
hedges  and  the  rich  crimson,  yellow,  purple,  gold,  and  scar- 
let of  the  dahlias,  tulips,  carnations,  and  roses  give  the  im- 
pression of  countless  butterflies  arrested  in  their  flight.  The 
more  prosperous  a  Hollander  is,  the  more  time  and  money  he 
gives  to  his  garden-house,  ordinarily  situated  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  town  or  city  where  he  earns  his  stivers  and  guilders. 
He  spends  in  this  way  what  Americans,  tortured  by  agricul- 
tural theories,  spend  upon  fancy  farms,  and  I  have  been  told 
that  rich  natives  of  the  Netherlands  have  invested  in  four  or 
five,  sometimes  in  not  more  than  two  or  three  acres,  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  their  income.  They  could  not  sell  their 
pet  plat  for  one-tenth  of  its  cost,  and  yet  they  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  part  with  it  for  ten  times  the  sum  expended  in 
what,  to  them,  is  the  Eden  of  their  expectation. 

With  the  national  love  of  regularity  and  form,  flowers  of 
the  same  kind  and  color  are  usually  confined  to  one  bed.  Dur- 
ing the  summer  season,  company  is  entertained  and  pleasure- 
parties  made  to  these  out-of-town  retreats  where  tea,  coffee, 
beer  and  gin  are  drank,  and  tobacco  burned  amid  the  liveliest 
of  gossip  and  the  serenest  of  substantial  comfort.  Boating 
is  one  of  the  common  accompaniments  of  the  Sunday  and 
holiday  excursions,  and  parties  of  merry-makers  are  constantly 
rowing  along  the  turbid  and  slimy  canals  apparently  unaware 
that  the  exhalations  from  the  half-stagnant  water  are  power- 
less to  recall  the  sweets  of  Hybla  or  the  honeysuckles  of  Cas- 
tile. 

I  have  found  the  summer  in  Holland  anything  but  desira- 
ble, for  then  the  whole  atmosphere  is  laden  with  mephetic 
fumes,  and  the  sun  burning  down  upon  the  flat,  marshy, 
canal-fretted  kingdom,  its  whole  surface  shimmers  with  heat 
and  steams  with  obnoxious  miasmata.  The  Dutch  enjoy  this, 
however,  to  such  an  extent,  that  I  have  come  to  regard  the 
Dutch  nose,  if  not  the  most  whimsical,  the  most  independent 
of  the  influence  of  smell  of  any  noses  in  all  Europe. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

AMSTERDAM. 

MSTERDAM,  meaning  the  dam  or  dyke  of  the 
Amstel,  at  the  confluence  of  which  river  with 
the  Ij,  the  city  is  situated,  is  one  of  the  busi- 
est and  most  bustling  towns  on  the  Continent. 
The  metropolis  of  Holland,  and  constitutionally 
its  capital  (the  king  is  crowned  there,  though 
the  seat  of  government  and  the  royal  residence 
are  at  the  Hague), the  population,  at  present  some 
275,000,  is  steadily  increasing,  as  is  natural  with  its  exten- 
sive manufactures  and  much  more  extensive  commerce.  One 
would  hardly  look  for  so  active  and  wealthy  a  place  if  he  did 
not  remember  that  the  colonies  belonging  to  Holland  in  the 
East  Indies,  with  the  territories  in  Sumatra,  Borneo,  New 
Guinea,  Surinam,  Curac,oa,  and  several  West  India  islands, 
have  a  combined  population  of  about  17,000,000,  and  that 
Amsterdam  conducts  the  chief  trade  and  commerce  of  all 
those  distant  regions. 

Amsterdam,  called  the  Venice  of  the  North,  only  resembles 
the  Italian  city  in  its  building  on  piles,  its  numerous  canals 
and  contiguity  to  the  sea.  Venice  is  a  dream  of  the  past ; 
Amsterdam  a  realization  of  the  present.  The  city,  as  may 
be  supposed,  stands  on  soft,  wet  ground,  with  a  bed  of  sand 
50  feet  below  the  surface,  into  which  the  piles  are  driven. 
The  principal  branch  of  the  Amstel  enters  the  city  on  the 
southeast,  and  winding  through  it  divides  it  into  the  old  and 
new  sides,  and  is  joined  to  the  Ij  by  this  and  numerous  other 
courses.     The  different  canals,  crossed  by  two  hundred  and 


TEE  VENICE  OF  THE  NORTH.  551 

fifty  bridges,  mostly  of  stone,  and  usually  provided  with  a 
draw  in  the  center,  divide  the  town  into  ninety  islands.  To- 
ward the  land  the  walls  form  a  semi-circle,  flanked  by  a  broad 
ditch  and  bordered  by  trees.  The  ramparts  have  been  lev- 
eled, and  on  the  bastions,  twenty-eight  or  thirty  in  number, 
windmills  have  been  erected.  Amsterdam  has  eight  stone 
gates,  named  after  the  different  towns  to  which  they  lead. 
On  both  sides  of  the  Amstel,  the  streets  toward  the  sea  are 
narrow  and  irregular,  but  beyond  that  part  of  the  town  are 
five  main  lines  of  thoroughfares,  corresponding  to  the  semi- 
circular direction  of  the  walls.  The  principal  of  these 
thoroughfares,  the  Heeren,  Keizer,  Singel,  and  Prinzens- 
gracht,  are  long,  broad,  excellently  paved,  and  very  well 
built.  In  the  centre  of  each,  as  in  nearly  all  the  streets  of 
the  city,  is  a  canal  bordered  with  broad  brick-paved  quays, 
and  planted  with  trees.  The  houses  are  mostly  built  of  brick, 
six  or  seven  stories  high,  rather  narrow  in  proportion,  round 
or  pointed  at  the  top,  the  gables  to  the  street,  often  constructed 
in  the  form  of  a  staircase,  entered  by  flights  of  steps  in  front, 
and  surmounted  by  forked  chimney  stacks.  The  buildings 
of  pretension  are  surmounted  by  a  carved  and  polished  slab 
of  white  marble.  The  shops,  particularly  in  the  Nieuwendyk, 
the  Kalvers,  and  Warmois  straat,  are  large,  admirably  fitted 
and  stocked,  abounding  in  windows  of  plate-glass,  for  which 
the  city  is  renowned.  The  handsomest,  as  well  as  most 
noticeable  building  in  Amsterdam,  indeed  in  all  Holland, 
though  it  would  not  be  remarkable  elsewhere,  is  the  Royal 
Palace,  once  occupied  by  Louis  Bonaparte,  and  formerly  the 
Town  Hall,  which  the  Dutch  are  never  weary  of  extolling,  and 
which  they  consider  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  architecture 
of  modern  times.  It  is  a  stone  edifice,  in  parallelogrammatic 
form,  about  270  feet  long,  210  broad,  and  110  feet  high,  rest- 
ing on  14,000  piles,  has  many  excellent  paintings,  and  is 
noted  for  its  great  hall,  lined  with  white  Italian  marble,  112 
feet  long  and  90  feet  high.  The  marble  is  finely  carved,  and 
when  the  room  is  brilliantly  lighted,  as  it  is  on  state  ball 
nights,  and  the  floor  is  crowded  with  elegantly-dressed 
dancers,  it  shows  to  advantage. 


552  VARIEGATED    THEOLOGY. 

The  churches  of  the  city  are  marked  by  plainness  and 
simplicity,  but  share  the  unique  character  of  everything  in 
Holland.  Many  of  them  have  six  or  eight  gables  built  out 
from  the  center,  and,  standing  in  damms  or  open  places,  are 
surrounded  by  shops,  so  that  it  is  difficult  to  find  the  en- 
trance. It  is  as  if  theology  were  fortified  by  trade,  which  may 
be  the  unconscious  symbol  of  the  spirit  of  the  country.  I 
have  frequently  gone  round  and  round  the  churches,  peering 
into  a  haberdasher's  or  cordwainer's,  or  grocer's,  to  discover 
the  means  of  ingress.  By  and  bye  I  would  find  a  narrow 
way  or  little  shop,  through  which  I  could  gain  admission  to 
the  church. 

The  finest  ecclesiastical  edifice  is  the  Nieuwe  Kerk,  or 
New  Church,  the  upper  part  supported  by  50  stone  pillars, 
and  lighted  by  75  large  windows,  some  of  them  handsomely 
stained.  It  contains  a  number  of  tombs  of  distinguished 
Dutchmen,  among  others  that  of  the  noted  dramatic  poet, 
Vondel  (the  partial  natives  have  compared  him  to  Shakes- 
peare), and  that  of  Admiral  De  Ruyter,  who  sailed  up  the 
Medway,  and  burned  the  English  fleet  at  Chatham.  The 
Oude  Kerk,  or  Old  Church — it  was  founded  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  only  a  few  years  after  the  so-called  New  Church — is 
the  burial  place  of  several  of  the  prominent  Admirals,  and 
has  a  large  and  fine-toned  organ,  ranking  in  reputation  with 
that  at  Haarlem. 

Amsterdam,  as  a  representative  of  Holland,  has  a  varia- 
gated  theology.  The  State  religion  is  Calvinism,  but  there 
are  besides,  about  35,000  Evangelical  Lutherans,  50,000  Ro- 
man Catholics,  over  20,000  Jews,  with  a  large  number  of 
Scotch  Presbyterians,  English  Episcopalians,  Moravians, 
Baptists,  Quakers,  and  Greeks,  each  and  all  of  whom  have 
their  places  of  worship.  There  are  some  50  benevolent  and 
charitable  institutions  in  the  city,  including  asylums  for  the 
blind,  the  deaf  and  dumb,  hospitals  for  the  poor,  the  infirm, 
for  orphans,  widows,  foundlings,  the  aged,  and  the  insane. 

The  Museum  has  a  collection  of  some  500  pictures,  prin- 
cipally of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  schools.     Some  of  them  are 


THE  DIAMOND  MILLS.  553 

masterpieces,  notably  Gerard  Dou's  "  Evening  School,"  in 
which  the  effect  of  several  candles  is  distinctly  illustrated  by 
the  admirable  management  of  light  and  shade.  This  little 
painting,  14  by  20  inches,  was  executed  by  the  artist,  it  is 
said,  for  $100.  The  Museum  paid  for  it,  more  than  sixty 
years  ago,  $3,700,  and  it  could  not  now  be  bought  for  four 
times  that  sum.  The  feature  of  the  gallery  is  Vanderhelst's 
"  Banquet  of  the  Burgess  Guard,"  which  took  place  June  18, 
1648,  in  the  grand  hall  of  St.  Loris  Docle,  in  that  city,  to 
commemorate  the  peace  of  Westphalia.  The  twenty-five  fig- 
ures are  all  portraits,  and  excellently  done.  Rembrandt's 
"  Night  Watch,"  and  the  elder  Teniers'  "  Body  Guard,"  and 
"  Temptation  of  St.  Anthony,"  are  also  striking  illustrations 
of  art. 

A  magnificent  piece  of  engineering  is  the  ship  canal,  20 
feet  deep,  125  broad,  and  over  50  miles  long,  constructed 
between  Amsterdam  and  the  Helder  at  an  expense  of  over 
$5,000,000  to  obviate  the  danger  and  difficulty  of  navigating 
the  shallow  water  of  the  Zuyder  Zee. 

There  are  half  a  dozen  theatres  in  the  city  where  perform- 
ances are  given  in  French,  Dutch,  and  German.  At  two  of 
the  minor  theatres,  which  have  variety  performances,  some- 
thing like  the  Alhambra,  in  London,  on  a  small  scale,  smok- 
ing and  drinking  are  allowed,  and  the  result  is  that  even  the 
phlegmatic  Dutch  so  fill  the  places  with  noise  and  the  fumes 
of  tobacco  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  see  or  hear  anything 
of  the  entertainment. 

Gem-cutting  is  a  specialty  of  Amsterdam,  and  in  the  dia- 
mond mills,  as  they  are  usually  called,  about  10,000  Jews,  in 
whose  hands  are  these  establishments,  are  regularly  employed. 
There  diamonds  and  other  stones  are  cut  and  polished  for 
jewelers  all  over  Europe.  Not  being  a  dealer  in  diamonds,  I 
had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  admission  to  one  of  the  largest 
mills,  worked  by  steam  engines,  and  their  machinery,  acting 
on  metal  plates,  causes  them  to  revolve  with  excessive  rapid- 
ity. On  these  plates  diamond  dust  is  laid,  and  the  diamond 
to  be  polished  is  placed  on  a  cap  of  amalgamized  zinc  and 


554  -4  GREAT  BANKING  CENTER. 

quicksilver,  and  pressed  against  the  plates.  When  a  diamond 
is  to  be  cut,  diamond  dust  is  put  on  a  fine  wire,  and  drawn 
rapidly  backward  and  forward  like  a  saw.  The  diamond 
dust,  which  is,  of  course,  very  valuable,  is  carefully  watched, 
and  not  a  particle  of  it  wasted,  as  with  nothing  else  can  the 
cutting  or  polishing  be  accomplished.  Many  of  the  Jewish 
proprietors  of  the  diamond  mills  are  very  wealthy,  and,  like 
their  race  in  all  quarters  of  the  globe,  are  connoisseurs  in  dia- 
monds and  every  variety  of  precious  stones.  Amsterdam 
and  Antwerp  are  the  principal  diamond  markets  on  the  Con- 
tinent, and  persons  wishing  to  buy  or  sell  valuable  diamonds 
usually  go  to  one  of  the  two  cities  for  the  purpose. 

Amsterdam,  with  the  exception  of  Frankfort,  is  the  richest 
city  for  its  size  on  the  globe.  Though  comparatively  new, 
having  been,  early  in  the  thirteenth  century,  only  a  fishing 
village,  with  a  small  castle,  in  which  the  lords  of  Amstel  re- 
sided, it  has  prospered  bravely,  reaching  its  acme  of  success 
during  the  16th  and  17th  century,  when  the  siege  and  decline 
of  Antwerp,  and  the  closing  of  navigation  on  the  Scheldt 
gave  it  the  rank  of  the  first  commercial  city  in  Europe.  In 
banking  it  has  long  been  eminent,  and  a  number  of  firms  have 
made  immense  fortunes.  One  of  the  most  noted  and  wealth- 
iest houses  is  Hope  &  Co.,  founded  in  the  17th  century  by 
Henry  Hope,  a  Scotchman  of  French  descent.  Another 
Henry  Hope,  one  of  the  leading  members  of  the  firm,  forty 
or  fifty  years  ago,  was  an  American,  whose  father,  a  Scotch 
loyalist,  had  settled  in  Boston.  After  the  Rothschilds,  this 
house  has  probably  exercised  as  much  financial  influence  as 
any  one  firm  on  the  Continent.  The  banking  capital  of  Am- 
sterdam is  enormous.  The  money  its  bankers  have  and  can 
control  is  not  far  from  $500,000,000. 

Some  of  the  most  prosperous  bankers  and  merchants  live 
with  a  plainness  and  an  economy  which  in  this  country  would 
be  called  niggardliness.  Their  offices  are  often  in  rear  build- 
ings and  out  of  the  way  places  where  no  one  would  look 
for  firms  with  an  European  reputation.  I  have  had  occasion 
to  call  on  some  of  the  bankers  there,  and  after  groping  about 


COSTUMES  OF  THE  PEASANTS.  555 

through  basements,  and  up  narrow  stairways,  I  found  men 
transacting  business  of  millions  a  week  in  dingy  apartments, 
whose  entire  furniture  would  not  have  brought  500  guilders 
in  the  most  favorable  market. 

In  Amsterdam,  on  festal  days,  the  peasants  from  the  prov- 
inces pay  the  commercial  capital  a  visit,  and  attract  much  at- 
tention from  their  quaint  costumes  which  have  undergone  no 
change  for  a  century  and  a  half.  The  Eierlander  wears  a 
dress  partially  Swiss  and  partially  Greek,  a  high,  peaked  cap, 
with  bands  of  red  at  the  top  and  base,  a  pointed  collar,  a  red 
and  white  striped  cravat,  a  green  skirt  and  jacket  above  a 
purple  underwaist  over  which  the  jacket  is  laced  with  a  yel- 
low cord.  The  sleeves,  of  a  drab  color,  fit  close  to  the  arm, 
with  white  puffs  at  the  shoulder  and  pointed  cuffs  at  the 
wrist.  A  plaid  yellow  apron  is  worn  and  fastened  at  the 
waist  with  a  large  bow  of  a  bright  orange  hue.  The  skirt 
descends  to  a  few  inches  above  the  ankle,  and  white  stock- 
ings with  high  shoes  complete  this  singular  garb. 

The  Frieslander  of  the  common  sort  wears  a  close-fitting 
gown  of  green,  a  large  lace  cape,  and  on  her  head  a  lace  cap 
covering  her  ears  and  coming  nearly  to  her  shoulders,  while 
on  each  side  of  her  head  is  a  large  piece  of  brass  shaped  like 
an  oyster-shell  and  fastened  at  the  bottom  with  something 
that  looks  like  an  old-fashioned  window-curtain.  If  of  the 
better  class,  her  lace  is  finer,  and  she  dons  what  is  known 
here  as  a  spencer  cape  with  a  deep  embroidered  border. 

The  native  of  Zealand  has  short,  close  fitting  sleeves,  and 
a  vest  of  large-figured  calico.  About  her  neck  is  a  brass 
collar  ornamented  with  bits  of  red  glass.  A  band  of  the 
same  kind  is  around  her  forehead,  and  over  her  ears  hang 
several  brazen  links  set  in  the  same  manner. 

The  Zaandam  peasant  is  attired  in  a  short  gown,  usually 
of  bright  green,  with  a  gathered  skirt,  a  brass  mounting  over 
her  forehead  and  at  the  side  of  her  temples,  and  a  black  hood 
lined  with  white,  falling  over  her  shoulders. 

The  Beierlander,  in  addition  to  an  ordinary  gown,  and 
apron  of  flaming  color,  wears  a  kind  of  lace  cap  gathered  in 


556  ORPHANS  IN  MASQUERADE. 

heavy  folds  at  the  sides,  and  entirely  concealing  her  hair.  In 
her  ears  are  large  hoop  rings  from  which  bang  huge  crosses 
of  brass  or  gilt  with  settings  of  crimson  glass. 

The  denizen  of  North  Brabout  covers  her  bust  with  a  taw- 
dry handkerchief  fastened  at  the  waist,  and  decks  her  head 
with  a  huge  stiffly  starched  cap  that  suggests  an  exaggerated 
wig  of  the  Louis  XIV.  style. 

There  are  numerous  other  quaint  costumes  with  variations 
of  peculiar  caps,  brass  ornaments,  and  chains  about  the  face, 
and  extraordinary  bonnets,  looking  like  inverted  wash-bowls, 
and  coal-skuttles,  of  the  modern  pattern.  What  prompts 
women  with  wit  enough  to  keep  out  of  a  lunatic  asylum  to  so 
distort  themselves  is  not  for  the  masculine  mind  to  divine. 
We  often  wonder  at  the  hideousness  of  fashions  of  the  present 
day,  and  it  is  consolatory  to  know  that  in  the  Netherlands, 
some  four  or  five  generations  since,  they  were  even  worse 
than  now.  And  it  is  always  pleasant  to  remember  that  the 
present,  bad  as  it  may  be,  is  an  improvement  on  the  past. 

The  orphans,  who  are  inmates  of  the  asylums,  and  who 
frequently  appear  in  the  streets  in  procession  on  Sundays  and 
holidays,  wear  a  uniform  of  black  and  red,  one-half  of  the 
boy's  jacket  being  red  and  the  other  half  black,  while  the 
skirt  of  the  girl's  gown  is  equally  divided  by  the  two  colors. 
The  boy's  trousers  and  the  girl's  waist  are  entirely  black.  His 
cap  is  black  with  a  red  band,  and  she  wears  a  white  hand- 
kerchief crossed  over  her  breast,  and  a  white  apron.  A  long 
line  of  the  orphans  so  attired  looks  very  grotesque,  and  is 
apt  to  give  the  impression  to  strangers  that  the  little  folks  of 
the  town  are  out  in  masquerade. 

Few  buildings  of  Amsterdam  that  are  not  out  of  the  per- 
pendicular, and,  considering  their  number,  they  are  much 
more  remarkable  than  the  Asinelli,  or  the  Garisenda  towers 
at  Bologna.  They  look  alarmingly  infirm,  as  if  they  might 
tumble  down  any  moment.  They  lean  in  all  directions,  some- 
times forward,  sometimes  backward,  to  the  right  and  also  the 
left ;  and  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  citizens  hold  a  prejudice 
against  a  warehouse  or  dwelling  which  is  straighter,  or  rather 


DR  UNKEN  HO  USES.  557 

less  crooked,  than  the  average.  What  seems  to  be  eccentric 
architecture  arises  from  the  sinking  of  the  piles  on  which 
the  buildings  are  erected.  Notwithstanding  the  appearance 
of  the  houses  they  are  all  perfectly  safe,  as  they  are  put  up 
very  substantially  and  with  the  best  of  foundations.  Such  a 
thing  as  the  falling  of  a  building  has  never,  I  think,  been 
heard  of  in  Amsterdam.  There  is  something  ludicrous,  how- 
ever, in  the  structures  of  whole  streets  appearing  unable  to 
stand  upright,  as  if  the  entire  town  had  been  on  a  riotous  ex- 
cursion to  Schiedam,  and  had  come  home,  after  trying  to 
drink  out  its  two  hundred  distilleries,  staggering  under  spirit- 
uous defeat. 

I  heard  of  an  American,  in  Amsterdam,  who  had,  one  even- 
ing, been  testing  too  fully  the  quality  of  the  national  gin,  and 
who  subsequently  attempted  to  walk  home.  After  going 
round  and  round  one  of  the  damms  for  nearly  an  hour,  he 
steadied  himself  against  a  lamp-post  and  fixing  his  eye  on  a 
church,  he  said :  "  Well,  this  is  the  crookedest  town  I've  seen 
yet.  It  beats  Genoa  and  Antwerp.  I  swear  I've  passed  that 
church  forty  times  in  as  many  minutes ;  and  yet  I  must  have 
.walked  three  miles.  Either  that  church  is  following  me,  or 
I  am  drunk.  (After  a  few  moments  reflection.)  Perhaps  I 
am  drunk.  Well,  it  isn't  strange.  Look  at  the  houses! 
They've  got  their  kegs  full,  sure.  If  I  am  drunk,  I'm  soberer 
than  this  town  is  anyhow.  When  houses  can't  stand  any 
straighter  than  these  do,  they  ought  to  be  taken  in,  and  not 
be  allowed  to  stay  out  all  night,  disgracing  themselves  in  this 
way." 

On  my  first  arrival  in  the  city  I  ordered  the  coachman  to 
drive  me  to  the  Bible  House,  to  which  I  had  been  recom- 
mended. It  was  so  very  far  from  the  station — nearly  three 
miles — that  I  imagined  the  driver  must  be  playing  one  of  the 
tricks  for  which  the  Hibernian  hackmen  at  home  are  so  no- 
torious. By  questioning  him,  however,  I  discovered  that  he 
had  the  usual  Dutch  honesty,  and  was  taking  me  by  as  direct 
a  route  as  possible.  The  Bible  House,  which,  though  a  hotel, 
keeps  the  name  of  its  Scriptural  original,  1  found  to  be  mod- 


558  A   QUEER  HOTEL. 

eled  after  the  Calvanistic  creed.  It  was  so  very  narrow  that 
going  up  stairs  was  like  climbing  a  ladder ;  and,  slender  as  I 
am,  my  room  was  so  small  that  I  had  to  sleep  on  my  side  all 
night,  and  then  descend  to  breakfast  by  the  stairway  hand 
over  hand.  This  is  something  of  an  exaggeration ;  but  I  can 
conscientiously  say  that  the  Bible  House  reminded  me  of  a 
very  thin  slice  of  a  moderate-sized  hotel  which  had  been  care- 
fully cut  off  for  some  deserving  charity.  One  night  in  the 
Bible  House  made  me  feel  so  much  like  the  edge  of  a  razor 
that  I  went  the  next  morning  to  the  Amstel,  the  best  hotel 
in  the  kingdom,  and  allowed  myself  to  expand  to  the  breadth 
of  a  knitting  needle. 

The  Amstel  is  new,  and  built  after  modern  requirements. 
It  is  almost  the  only  place  I  slept  in  Holland  where  the  beds 
are  long  enough.  The  Dutch  cherish  a  notion  that  four  feet 
or  thereabouts  is  the  proper  length  for  a  bedstead,  and  as 
they  usually  sleep  with  their  chin  on  their  knees,  brevity 
makes  little  difference  with  them.  I  once  thought  that  they 
slept  with  their  boots  on,  and  put  them  over  the  foot-board  so 
that  the  servants  could  pull  them  off  and  black  them  without 
awakening  the  owners.  Travel  has  enabled  me  to  correct 
this  with  many  other  errors. 

The  Hollanders  seem  very  primitive.  I  remember  going 
into  a  barber's  shop  in  Amsterdam,  one  day,  and  offering  the 
barber  a  napoleon  for  shaving  me.  He  didn't  know  what 
the  coin  was,  and  went  out  and  staid  nearly  half  an  hour  to 
inquire  among  his  neighbors  if  he  was  safe  in  changing  the 
coin.  As  napoleons  are  current  all  over  the  Continent,  I  was 
forced  to  believe  the  barber  below  the  average  of  stupidity. 

The  city  is  governed  by  a  Senate  or  Council  of  thirty-six 
members  and  twelve  burgomasters ;  the  members  of  the  Coun- 
cil serving  during  life,  and  filling  by  their  own  election  any 
vacancies  that  may  occur. 

Considering  the  unique  character  of  Amsterdam,  I  wonder 
it  is  so  seldom  visited,  especially  as  it  is  so  near  Brussels  and 
Paris  where  every  one  goes. 


CHAPTER  LXX. 


DUTCH    CUSTOMS    AND   CHARACTERISTICS. 


N  one  respect  the  Dutch  are  like  the  Chinese — 
many  of  them  live  almost  entirely  on  the  water. 
As  they  can  go  from  any  one  part  of  the  kingdom 
to  any  other  by  their  canals,  and  as  a  large  number 
of  the  population  is  engaged  in  traffic  and  in  the 
carrying  trade,  men  not  only  keep  their  families  on 
boats,  but  also  their  fowls  and  domestic  animals.  Thus  their 
vessels  (trekschuiten)  become  aquatic  homes,  and  may  be  con- 
sidered a  species  of  modern  ark  in  which  Hans  or  Dietrich 
plays  the  role  of  Noah,  with  an  opinion  about  the  deluge  more 
nearly  resembling  that  of  Louis  XIV.,  than  the  Biblical  patri- 
arch's. One  would  not  suppose  that  a  vessel  in  which  ducks, 
geese,  pigs,  cows,  and  children,  are  kept,  would  be  very  neat 
or  wholesome  ;  but  the  trekschuit  is  remarkably  so,  consider- 
ing the  circumstances.  The  cabins  built  on  the  upper  decks, 
and  occupied  by  the  members  of  the  family  are  swept, 
scrubbed,  and  polished,  with  the  frequent  regularity  and  un- 
relenting rigor  displayed  on  land. 

To  a  foreigner,  one  of  these  floating  households,  drawn 
by  horses  at  the  rate  of  four  miles  an  hour,  is  curious  enough. 
One  week  they  are  at  Rotterdam ;  the  next  at  Delft,  and  the 
third  at  the  Hague.  They  pass  May  at  Leyden;  June  at 
Haarlem ;  July  at  Alkmaar ;  August  at  Amsterdam ;  Septem- 
ber at  Utrecht ;  October  at  Gorkum,  and  winter  at  Nymwegen 
or  Bois  le  Due;  so  that,  if  Holland  be  their  world,  as  it 
usually  is  to  the  common  people,  they  must  become  thoroughly 


560  THE    WATER-DWELLING   POPULATION. 

cosmopolitan.  I  have  heard  it  estimated  that  not  less  than 
300,000  or  400,000  persons  pass  thJlr  lives  upon  the  water, 
and  support  themselves  by  trading  between  one  point  and 
another.  Children  are  born  on  the  vessels  ;  are  reared  there  ; 
dwell  there ;  die  there,  bounding  the  sphere  of  their  being  by 
the  dull  canals.  Almost  the  only  recreation  they  have  is  in 
winter,  when,  being  frozen  in,  they  go  skating  and  sledding 
because  they  can  use  their  time  in  no  money-getting  way. 

The  Dutch  are,  I  repeat,  models  of  prudence  and  thrift ; 
living  very  comfortably,  but  making  every  stitver  count.  They 
have  none  of  the  vainglory  of  money-spending ;  do  nothing 
for  mere  show.  Nearly  all  the  tradesmen  in  every  town  live 
over  their  shops  after  the  old  fashion,  and  combine  their  com- 
mercial affairs  more  or  less  with  their  domesticity.  Not  a  few 
of  the  large  merchants  do  likewise,  having  beside  the  canals 
their  tall  warehouses  (reserving  certain  apartments  for  their 
residence)  into  which  they  can  lift  merchandise  from  vessels  by 
means  of  blocks  projecting  from  the  roofs  of  the  buildings. 
The  vast  capital  of  the  Hollanders  has  been  acquired  much  more 
by  their  saving  than  by  their  earning  capacity.  "With  every 
natural  advantage  to  contend  against,  they  have  had  extraor- 
dinary prosperity.  Fighting,  for  generations,  foreign  foes  and 
the  native  sea,  they  have  been  trained  to  the  every-day  battles 
of  life,  and  the  unending  struggle  for  existence.  The  goods 
of  this  world  are  generally  well  distributed  among  them,  and 
no  nation  in  Europe  gives  more  evidence  of  health,  comfort, 
and  contentment.  Most  of  their  wealth  is  derived  from  dairies 
and  live  stock ;  excellent  meadows  having  been  created  by  the 
draining  of  bogs  and  lakes.  They  get  their  cattle  from  Den- 
mark and  Germany,  and  it  is  remarkable  in  how  short  a  time 
the  lean  kine  become  fat  and  sleek,  yielding  milk  out  of  which 
immense  quantities  of  butter  and  cheese  of  the  best  quality 
are  made.  In  Holland,  as  in  Ireland,  excellent  peat  is  found 
and  used  for  fuel.  Mixed  with  the  Dutch  are  600,000  or 
700,000  Walloons,  Frisians  and  Germans ;  .but  with  these  the 
natives  seldom  intermarry,  so  that  the  national  type — stout 
and  rather  short  figure,  and  blonde  complexion — is  pretty  well 


THE  INSANITY  OF  CLEANLINESS.  561 

preserved.  The  Holland  women  as  a  sex  are  better-looking 
than  the  men,  being  slenderer  and  frequently  taller ;  while  their 
features  are  more  delicate,  and  their  expression  less  stolid. 
Many  of  the  men  and  women,  notwithstanding  the  northern 
latitude,  are  decided  brunettes — these  are-  the  comeliest  — 
though  the  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair  are  the  rule. 

The  neatness  of  the  Dutch  is  proverbial ;  but  it  seems  to 
me  to  consist  mainly  in  externals.  The  country  is  so  damp 
that  great  surface  care  has  always  been  a  necessity  ;  hence  the 
endless  dusting,  sweeping,  rubbing,  and  scrubbing,  all  over  the 
kingdom,  which  gives  a  stranger  the  impression  of  universal 
and  eternal  house-cleaning. 

The  Dutch  woman  is  a  born  housewife,  and  can  never 
know  rest  or  satisfaction  until  every  speck  of  soil  or  dirt  is 
removed  from  her  range  of  vision.  She  is  an  unconscious 
Lady  Macbeth,  who,  instead  of  walking  in  her  sleep,  is  ever 
working  in  her  wakefulness,  and  crying  mentally,  "Out, 
damned  spot ! "  to  every  unclean  atom  which  serves  at  once 
for  her  torture  and  delight.  She  is  an  arch  enemy  of  all  foul- 
ness ;  the  rag,  and  broom,  and  brush,  are  the  symbols  of  her 
function.  She  makes  order  a  nuisance,  and  cleanliness  a  dis- 
tress. Water  pours,  and  soap  foams  before  her.  She  is  not 
happy  unless  she  can  see  her  round  and  ruddy  face  reflected  in 
every  vessel  of  tin  or  brass ;  and  the  sight  of  a  stain  disturbs 
her  nerves  like  the  hysterics.  Her  children  are  washed  until 
their  flesh  is  sore,  and  if  the  little  creatures  were  not  rugged 
of  constitution,  they  would  perish  from  superfluous  hydropathy. 
She  sets  her  foot  upon  the  ploughshare  of  household  work,  and 
every  day  she  passes  a  splashing  and  rubbing  ordeal. 

The  masculine  Hollander,  though  less  tormented  than  his 
mate  by  the  passion  for  neatness,  still  carries  his  ideas  of  order 
and  material  purity  to  extremes.  He  strives  to  make  his  stable 
look  like  his  parlor ;  often  ties  up  his  horse's  tail  to  prevent  it 
from  contact  with  dirt,  and  has  been  known  to  whitewash  or 
paint  the  smooth  ends  of  sticks  of  wood  piled  for  winter 
use.  He  knows  where  each  tool  or  each  article  in  his  shop  is 
to  be  found,  and  always  keeps  it  in  the  best  condition.  He 
36 


562  NOT  NEAT  IN  MANY  THINGS. 

understands  the  adaptation  of  means  to  ends;  wastes  nothing; 
lets  nothing  rust  or  decay.  All  this  has  been  taught  him  by 
the  needs  of  his  climate  and  condition ;  but  beyond  this  are 
niceties  he  takes  little  into  account,  and  forms  of  cleanliness 
his  helpmate  does  not  suspect. 

Among  the  less  obvious  neatnesses  may  be  mentioned  those 
of  person.  Children  are  scrubbed  as  pans  and  kettles  are,  be- 
cause they  are  part  of  the  belongings  of  the  household ;  but 
when  maturity  is  arrived  at,  baths  and  fresh  linen  are  not 
deemed  so  indispensable.  The  cultivated  classes  there,  as 
everywhere,  make  of  purity  a  religion ;  but  the  people  in 
ordinary  or  common  life,  though  they  may  be  madly  devoted 
to  order  and  objective  cleanliness,  give  no  evidence  of  apply- 
ing the  principle  to  themselves.  They  are  not  so  entirely 
careless  and  untidy  as  the  Latin  nations,  and  yet  their  habits 
are  not  very  different  from  those  of  the  inhabitants  of  north- 
ern Europe  generally.  They  would  certainly  add  to  their 
agreeableness  by  superior  neatness,  and  may  cultivate  improve- 
ment of  a  personal  kind  for  many  years  without  carrying  it  to 
a  vicious  extreme.  They  are  heedless,  too,  of  their  culinary 
preparations.  Their  table-cloth  will  be  immaculate,  and  every 
dish  upon  it  lambent  with  labor ;  still  you  cannot  be  sure  that 
the  water  of  which  the  coffee  has  been  made  is  altogether 
pure  or  fresh.  What  does  not  show,  in  Holland,  is  apt  to  be 
neglected,  and  the  prevalent  neatness  arises  less  from  refine- 
ment and  fastidiousness  than  from  the  enforcement  of  obliga- 
tion and  the  inheritance  of  habit. 

The  Dutch  sense  of  sight  appears  to  be  cultivated  at  the 
expense  of  at-  least  two  of  the  other  senses — smell  and  taste. 
During  their  blazing  Augusts  they  are  profoundly  unconscious 
that  their  sluices,  ditches  and  canals,  fragrant  with  green  scum, 
decaying  fish  and  long  exanimated  kittens,  are  not  fresh  as 
breezes  from  the  sea.  Again  and  again  I  have  asked  how 
they  managed  to  endure  their  summer  sweets,  and  they  have 
invariably  told  me  they  were  unaware  of  their  existence. 
Their  appetite,  moreover,  is  more  hearty  than  discriminating. 
They  greedily  devour  what  a  delicate  palate  would  reject,  and 


THE   CLEANEST  TOWN  ON  THE   GLOBE.  563 

smoke  pipes  so  ancient  and  so  potent  as  to  make  any  other 
gorge  than  theirs  violently  rebellious.  I  have  seen  them  empty- 
ing prosaic  utensils,  dipping  up  water,  washing  fish  and  their 
own  feet,  less  than  three  yards  apart,  in  the  slimy  and  unsavory 
canals.  This  may  be  neatness  in  Dutch,  but,  translated  into 
English,  it  bears  another  name. 

My  own  idea  about  the  reputation  of  Holland  for  cleanli- 
ness is,  that  two  or  three  centuries  ago,  it  was  in  this  respect 
greatly  in  advance  of  other  nations.  Since  then  they  have 
made  vast  improvement,  while  Holland  has  stood  still.  But 
we  continue  to  laud  them  for  a  conspicuous  habit  which  in  us 
has  grown  to  be  an  instinct,  though  it  reveals  itself  in  less 
obvious  forms. 

Six  miles  from  Amsterdam  is  Broek,  often  called  the 
cleanest  town  in  the  world.  You  take  the  ferry-boat  to  Wa- 
terland,  and  from  there  go  on  foot  or  by  carriage  to  the  soilless 
spot.  Most  of  the  inhabitants  of  Broek  are  wealthy,  many  of 
them  being  landed  proprietors,  or  retired  merchants.  They 
are  all  united  in  carrying  material  cleanliness  in  their  houses 
and  streets  to  an  excess  that  is  ridiculous.  The  greater  part 
of  the  residences — not  entered  without  change  of  shoes — are 
of  wood,  painted  white  and  green,  though  the  fronts  of  not  a 
few  are  yellow,  blue,  orange,  brown,  and  red.  The  roofs  are 
of  polished  tile,  and  the  narrow  streets  are  paved  either  with 
brick,  or  with  small  stones  set  in  regular  patterns.  The  entire 
population,  which  is  less  than  1,500,  seems  to  occupy  itself 
from  dawn  to  dark  in  washing,  rubbing,  scrubbing,  and  pol- 
ishing. Such  a  lot  of  monomaniacs  on  the  subject  of  neatness 
never  before  existed,  and  never  will,  let  us  hope,  exist  again. 
They  are  soap-and-water  crazy,  brush-and-broom  mad.  With 
the  earliest  flush  of  the  morning,  troops  of  servants  begin  to 
sweep,  and  rub,  and  dust  everywhere  and  everything,  though 
not  a  speck  of  dirt  could  be  discovered  with  a  microscope. 
The  stables  are  as  carefully  kept  as  the  dwellings.  The  floor 
is  sometimes  of  cabinet  work,  and  before  entering  them  ordi- 
nary boots  or  shoes  are  removed,  as  in  the  dwellings,  for  slip- 
pers or  sabots.     I  have  myself  seen  cows'  tails  held  up  by 


564  Z A  AND  AM. 

cords  to  keep  them  out  of  any  impurity.  Horses  and  cattle 
ar#  washed  every  morning,  as  if  they  were  children.  Vehi- 
cles of  any  kind  are  never  permitted  to  enter  the  village — no 
business  is  done  there — as  the  horses'  hoofs  and  the  wheels 
might  soil  or  break  the  elaborate  pavement.  Some  of  the  side- 
walks are  laid  with  porcelain,  and  the  finest  tiles,  arranged  in 
handsome  figures,  as  in  our  halls  and  vestibules.  If  a  straw, 
or  twig,  or  leaf  fall  in  the  street,  it  is  almost  immediately 
picked  up  or  swept  off.  I  have  been  told  there  is  in  almost 
every  house  a  particular  room  devoted  to  order  and  tidiness, 
and  entered  only  once  a  week  that  the  furniture  may  be  dusted 
and  rubbed,  and  then  locked  up  again  until  the  next  periodic 
visit.  Some  of  the  Calvinistic  families,  I  am  informed,  are  so 
zealous  in  the  observation  of  the  Sabbath,  that  they  have  two 
handles  to  their  pump — one  for  the  ordinary  days  of  the  week, 
and  the  other  for  Sunday. 

There  is  nothing  too  absurd  for  the  residents  of  Broek  to 
do  in  their  insanity  of  neatness.  The  impression  I  received 
from  the  village  was  not  pleasant.  I  would  not  live  in  it  a 
year  if  it  were  given  to  me.  The  inhabitants  seem  to  be 
small,  narrow,  and  one-ideaed,  as  they  must  necessarily  be,  with 
no  other  thought  or  aspiration  than  that  of  cleanliness,  which 
they  do  their  best  to  make  odious.  Strangers  visit  Broek  from 
sheer  curiosity,  regarding  its  people  as  amusing  lunatics,  to 
whom  common  carelessness  is  total  depravity.  The  greater 
part  of  the  villagers  are  Calvinists,  who  probably  believe  that 
the  Bottomless  Pit  is  a  region  Avhere  Hollanders  are  con- 
demned through  all  eternity  to  see  dirt,  without  the  opportu- 
nity or  expectation  of  removing  it. 

Another  place  of  interest  is  Saardam,  or  Zaandam,  nine 
miles  from  Amsterdam.  You  can  reach  it  by  steamboat  in  about 
an  hour.  The  town  has  a  population  of  some  12,000,  nearly 
all  sailors  or  ship-builders.  It  is  noted  for  its  windmills — some 
four  hundred  in  all — employed  in  grinding  soft  rock,  found  on 
the  Rhine,  which,  when  mixed  with  lime,  forms  trass,  used  as 
a  cement  in  the  construction  of  the  Dutch  docks  and  dykes. 
It  was  here  Peter  the  Great,  Emperor  of  Russia,  learned  his 


PETER   THE   GREAT* S   COTTAGE. 


505 


trade,  having  gone  to  Holland  that  he  might  instruct  his  sub- 
jects in  the  art  of  ship-building.  He  was  so  much  annoyed, 
however,  by  the  curious  crowd,  that  he  quitted  Zaandam,  and 
entered  the  dock-yard  of  the  East  India  Company,  in  Amster- 
dam, which  was  enclosed  within  walls.  The  cottage  in  which 
Peter  lived  still  stands,  having  been  purchased  by  the  late 
Queen  of  Holland,  sister  o^  the  Russian  Emperor  Alexander, 
who  caused  it  to  be  enclosed  with  shutters.  Every  part  of  the 
cottage  is  written  over  with  names,  a  few  of  them  noted,  but 
most  of  them  noodles.  The  Emperor  Alexander  had  a  tablet 
placed  over  the  mantel-piece,  with  the  inscription,  "  Nothing 
too  small  for  a  great  man." 


CHAPTER  iXXL 

DIFFERENT   DUTCH    CITIES. 

'AARLEM,  with  a  population  of  29,000,  was 
once  famous  for  its  bleaching  works  and  cot- 
ton manufactories ;  but  both  of  these  branches 
of  trade  have  greatly  declined.  Historically  the 
town  is  well  known  for  its  siege  by  the  Span- 
iards, under  the  Duke  of  Alva,  which  lasted 
seven  months.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  being 
wasted  by  famine,  the  heroic  Dutch  determined  to  cut  then- 
way  through  the  enemy's  camp.  The  besiegers,  learning  of 
the  desperate  determination,  offered  amnesty  if  the  garrison 
would  deliver  up  fifty-seven  of  the  principal  citizens.  For  the 
sake  of  the  starving  women  and  children,  that  number  of 
citizens  voluntarily  surrendered  themselves,  and  Haarlem 
capitulated.  The  Duke  of  Alva,  with  his  characteristic  per- 
fidy and  cruelty,  violated  his  plighted  word,  and  put  to  death 
two  thousand  soldiers  and  citizens. 

Haarlem  is  a  great  market  for  the  sale  of  bulbous  roots, 
tulips,  hyacinths,  dahlias,  etc.,  raised  in  the  Bloemen-Tuinen — 
extensive  nursery  grounds  on  the  south  side  of  the  city.  When 
the  tulip  mania  raged  throughout  Europe,  fabulous  prices 
were  paid  for  the  Haarlem  bulbs,  $2,000  and  $2,500  having 
been  given  for  a  single  one.  The  public  gambled  in  them  as 
the  Wall  street  bulls  and  bears  do  in  stocks,  and  hundreds  of 
men  lost  their  wits  and  their  fortunes  in  the  wild  and  singular 
speculation.  The  average  rate  there  for  tulip  bulbs  at  present 
is  about  twenty-five  cents,  and  the  highest  figure  is  $50.  One 
horticulturist  in  town  exports  annually  100,000  ranunculuses, 


HAARLEM  AND  ITS  FLOWERS.  567 

150,000  hyacinths,  300,000  tulips,  400,000  crocuses,  and  a 
great  many  other  flowers. 

The  church  of  St.  Bavon,  a  vast  Gothic  structure,  with  a 
high,  square  tower,  contains  the  organ,  of  which  everybody 
has  heard,  and  which  at  one  time  was  the  largest  in  the  world. 
This  instrument  has  60  stops,  5,000  pipes,  the  largest  of  them 
,  15  inches  in  diameter,  and  fills  the  entire  end  of  the  church. 
The  organ  is  very  powerful,  but  has  not,  to  jny  ear,  so  sweet 
or  so  delicate  a  tone  as  the  instruments  at  Freiburg  or  Bern, 
one  of  which,  if  not  both,  are  superior  to  it  in  size. 

The  great  engines  employed  in  pumping  out  the  Lake  of 
Haarlem,  containing  at  least  1,000,000,000  tuns  of  water,  by 
which  50,000  acres  of  land  were  redeemed  and  made  produc- 
tive, have  become  objects  of  interest,  and  are  frequently  visited 
by  the  curious. 

The  city,  with  the  ever-present  canals,  bordered  by  trees, 
the  high-roofed  buildings  and  peaked  attic  windows,  looks 
pleasing  and  picturesque.  The  environs  are  attractive,  and 
the  country  between  Haarlem  and  Amsterdam  is  so  intersected 
with  canals,  causeways,  sluices  and  windmills,  as  to  make  it 
unusually  interesting. 

The  old  city  of  Leyden  has  seriously  deteriorated.  It  once 
contained  over  90,000  people,  but  now  has  less  than  40,000. 
At  present  it  is  best  known  as  the  seat  of  the  University,  for- 
merly one  of  the  most  prominent  seats  of  learning  in  Europe, 
and  still  in  high  repute.  It  has  about  twenty  professors  and 
five  hundred  students.  Among  the  former  have  been  Ar- 
minius,  Gomarus,  and  Scaliger,  and  among  the  latter,  Grotius, 
Descartes,  Fielding,  and  Goldsmith.  Leyden  is  pleasantly 
situated  on  the  Old  Rhine,  six  miles  from  its  mouth.  Its 
former  fortifications  have  been  torn  down,  and  the  lines  of  the 
walls  planted  with  trees.  The  seven  gates,  however,  are  still 
standing,  and  the  ancient  Castle  de  Burg  is  now  occupied  as  a 
hotel,  and  the  adjacent  grounds  converted  into  tea-gardens. 
The  streets  are  broad,  straight,  and  scrupulously  clean.  One 
of  them — Breede  straat — the  Dutch  consider  equal  to  any 
thoroughfare  in  Europe;   but  this  opinion  can  only  be  ex- 


568  LEY  DEN. 

plained  by  their  national  vanity.  During  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  the  town  was  what  Leipsic  is  now — a 
great  centre  of  the  book  trade.  The  renowned  Elseviers  were 
then  enjoying  their  typographical  glory,  and  made  their  edi- 
tions of  the  classics  famous  everywhere.  All  that  now  remains 
of  that  nourishing  past  is  to  be  found  in  five  ordinary  printing 
offices. 

The  Museuimpf  Natural  History  is  an  admirable  collection, 
one  of  the  fullest  and  best  selected  in  Europe,  and  includes 
among  its  minerals  the  largest  topaz  in  the  world. 

The  Stadthuis  (Town  Hall)  has  a  portrait  of  Peter  Van- 
derwerf,  the  burgomaster  who,  for  four  months,  so  bravely 
defended  the  town  against  the  Spaniards,  in  1574.  For  seven 
weeks  the  garrison  and  citizens,  having  no  provisions,  sub- 
sisted on  dogs,  cats  and  rats.  Hundreds  died  of  hunger,  and 
in  their  dire  extremity  the  stoutest  of  Vanderwerf's  follow- 
ers begged  him  to  surrender  and  save  them  from  starvation. 
He  made  answer  by  offering  them  his  body  to  appease  their 
hunger,  which  so  shamed  them  that  their  complaints  were 
silenced,  and  they  resumed  the  battle  with  new  vigor.  The 
burgomaster's  heroism  was  nobly  rewarded.  The  Prince 
of  Orange  at  last  broke  down  the  dykes  to  relieve  the  suffering 
city,  and  a  high  wind,  sweeping  over  the  land,  drove  the 
waters  so  rapidly  that  at  least  twelve  hundred  of  the  besiegers 
were  drowned.  The  same  wind  also  wafted  a  fleet  of  two 
hundred  boats  from  Rotterdam  to  the  gates  of  Leyden,  and 
the  gallant  city  was  delivered  in  its  last  extremity. 

The  Hague, — the  Hollanders  call  it 'S  Gravenhage, — thirty- 
two  miles  from  Amsterdam,  is  the  residence  of  the  Court  and 
the  States-General.  Situated  on  a  branch  of  the  Leyden  and 
Rotterdam  canal,  four  miles  from  the  North  Sea,  it  is  thought 
the  finest  city  in  Holland.  It  is  surrounded  by  a  moat  crossed 
by  drawbridges,  and  many  of  its  streets  are  intersected  by 
canals,  lined  there  as  in  all  the  Dutch  cities,  by  rows  of  trees. 
Originally  it  was  a  hunting-seat  for  the  counts  of  Holland,  as 
its  native  name  implies,  and  did  not  rise  into  any  importance 
until  the  beginning  of  this  century ;  Louis  Bonaparte  having 


THE  HAGUE.  5G9 

conferred  upon  it  the  privileges  of  a  city.  The  town  has 
about  90,000  inhabitants,  and  is  exceedingly  well  built ;  the 
streets  being  wide  and  paved  with  brick,  with  many  handsome 
groves  of  trees.  The  Hague  has  been  more  influenced  by 
Paris  than  any  city  in  Holland,  as  is  observable  in  its  cus- 
toms and  manners,  and  French  is  generally  spoken  by  the 
cultivated  classes,  and  many  of  its  tradesmen.  The  society  of 
the  political  capital  is  of  the  best,  and  there  is  an  unusual 
amount  of  gayety,  form  and  display  among  a  people'  so  uni- 
formly staid  and  self-contained  as  the  Dutch.  It  is  the  birth- 
place of  William  II.,  Prince  of  Orange,  William  III.,  King  of 
England,  Huygens,  the  mathematician,  Boerhaave,  the  physi- 
cian, BildercUjk,  the  poet,  and  was  the  residence  of  Barneveldt 
and  the  De  Witts. 

The  principal  edifices  are  in  the  Vyverberg — the  great 
square  in  the  north  or  fashionable  quarter.  The  royal  palace 
is  a  plain  Grecian  building,  and  the  former  palace  of  Prince 
Maurice  is  now  the  National  Museum,  containing  an  unrivalled 
collection  of  Dutch  paintings.  The  most  celebrated  picture  is 
Paul  Potter's  "  Young  Bull " — probably  the  best  animal  paint- 
ing extant.  The  bull,  the  cow  reclining  on  the  grass,  several 
sheep,  an  aged  rustic  looking  over  the  fence,  and  the  entire 
landscape  seem  to  have  been  cut  out  of  nature.  Rembrandt's 
"  Anatomical  Lesson,"  representing  the  dissection  of  a  corpse 
by  a  medical  professor  and  his  pupils,  ghastly  as  the  subject 
is,  is  strikingly  vivid  and  impressive.  The  cadaverous  color 
and  shrunken  appearance  of  the  dead  body  are  wonderfully 
natural.  Judged  merely  as  a  wrork  of  art,  I  have  seen  nothing 
of  Rembrandt's  equal  to  it.  Gerard  Dou,  Holbein,  Wouver- 
mans,  have  some  of  their  best  works  there,  and  Poussin's 
"  Venus  Asleep  "  is  a  fine  specimen  of  drawing  and  color. 

On  the  lower  floor  of  the  Museum,  among  the  historic 
relics,  is  the  dress  worn  by  William,  Prince  of  Orange,  the 
day  of  his  assassination  at  Delft ;  the  shirt  and  waistcoat  of 
William  III.,  the  sword  of  Yan  Speyk,  and  the  armor  of  Ad- 
miral Yan  Tromp. 

The  Binnenhof  has  much  historic  interest,  having  been  the 


570  DELFT. 

scene  of  the  execution  of  Jan  Yan  Olden  Barneveldt,  one  of 
the  noblest  and  most  patriotic  of  Hollanders,  who,  because  he 
sought  the  good  of  his  country,  was  falsely  accused  and  falsely 
condemned  by  the  malignant  machinations  of  Maurice,  Prince 
of  Orange.  The  exact  spot  where  fell  that  venerable  and 
blameless  head  is  still  pointed  out. 

The  State  prison  is  shown  in  which  Cornelius  De  Witt  was 
confined  because  he  was  opposed  to  the  ambition  of  the 
princes  of  Orange,  as  Barneveldt  had  been,  and  whence  he 
and  his  brother,  Jan  De  Witt,  the  Grand  Pensionary,  were 
dragged  by  a  savage  mob  and  torn  to  pieces.  The  Dutch, 
like  the  Flemings,  had  in  the  past  a  fatal  habit  of  sacrificing  to 
their  suspicion  and  wrath  those  of  their  citizens  who  deserved 
the  deepest  gratitude  at  their  hands. 

The  House  in  the  Woods,  as  it  is  called,  now  the  residence 
of  the  Queen  of  Holland,  is  in  the  suburbs,  and  reached  by 
the  Yoorhout,  a  broad  road,  skirted  with  trees  and  elegant 
mansions.  It  is  in  the  centre  of  a  well-wooded  park,  sur- 
rounded by  artificial  lakes,  and  grounds  beautifully  laid  out. 
The  house,  very  plain  on  the  outside,  is  exquisitely  furnished, 
the  walls  hung  with  tapestry  and  many  admirable  pictures. 

I  visited  Delft,  with  its  20,000  inhabitants,  because  from 
its  port-*— Delft-Haven — the  Pilgrim  Fathers  embarked  for 
Southampton,  July  22,  1620,  and  also  to  see  the  monument 
of  William  of  Orange,  assassinated  by  Balthazar  Gerard,  an 
agent  of  Philip  II.,  who,  with  the  Jesuits,  had  long  been  con- 
spiring against  the  prince's  life.  They  made  seven  attempts  to 
murder  him,  and  on  the  eighth  succeeded.  On  his  tomb  is  an 
inscription  referring  to  a  small  dog,  a  great  favorite  with  Wil- 
liam, who  was  once  preserved  by  the  faithful  guardian's  bark- 
ing and  jumping  on  the  bed  when  the  assassins  were  about  to 
stab  him  in  his  sleep.  After  the  murder  of  the  prince,  the 
dog  pined  and  refused  food  until  he  died.  The  palace  where 
Prince  William  met  his  death  is  now  used  as  a  barrack.  The 
Old  Church  contains  the  monument  of  Admiral  Yan  Tromp, 
the  hero  of  thirty-two  battles,  with  a  bas-relief  representing 
the  engagement  in  which  he  fell.     Delft  is  clean  and  well 


ROTTERDAM.  571 

built,  but  dull  and  drowsy  as  a  Dutchman  nodding  over  his 
midnight  schnapps. 

Rotterdam  is  the  second  city  in  Holland,  boasting  a  popula- 
tion of  120,000,  which  is  steadily  increasing.  It  is  more  favor- 
ably situated  for  trade  than  Amsterdam,  and  has  a  very  large 
and  growing  commerce.  Its  residents  are  of  various  nation- 
alities, English,  French,  Germans,  Danes,  Russians,  Poles, 
Jews,  Greeks,  Armenians,  Italians,  Spaniards  and  Americans, 
having  large  mercantile  interests  there.  The  scenes  at  the 
Exchange  are  tumultuous  and  exciting.  I  went  there  several 
times,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  a  greater  confusion  of 
tongues,  and  more  noise  made  about  money  in  all  my  life.  If 
any  new  Tower  of  Babel  should  ever  be  built,  and  workmen 
should  be  needed  to  illustrate  the  old  story,  they  could  be  as 
readily  supplied  in  Rotterdam  as  in  any  place  I  know. 

The  city  is  altogether  Dutch,  the  high,  quaint-looking 
houses  being  built  of  very  small  bricks,  and  designed  more  for 
comfort  than  for  beauty.  Many  of  the  private  dwellings  there, 
as  in  other  towns  in  Holland,  have  small  mirrors  outside  the 
windows,  reflecting  up  and  down,  so  that  everybody  and  every- 
thing passing  in  the  street  can  be  seen  by  the  inmates,  while 
they  themselves  remain  invisible.  There  seems  to  be  a  per- 
petual rivalry  and  endless  contest  there  between  the  men  as 
meerschaum-colorers,  and  the  women  as  moppers,  as  to  which 
of  the  two  shall  perform  the  greater  amount  of  work.  The 
struggle  has  been  going  on  for  many  years,  but  has  never  been 
decided,  and  never  will  be. 

The  Church  of  St.  Lawrence,  more  than  four  centuries  old, 
has  a  magnificent  organ,  and  contains  the  ashes  of  Admirals 
De  Witt,  Rortenaar,  and  Yanbrakel.  The  house  in  which 
Erasmus  was  born,  in  1467,  is  still  preserved,  and  a  bronze 
statue  of  the  eminent  theologian  and  writer  adorns  the  market 
place. 

There  is  little  to  detain  any  one  not  interested  in  business 
in  Rotterdam,  unless  he  has  made  his  advent  into  Holland  at 
that  point.  In  that  event,  the  oddity  of  the  city  will  hold 
him  for  some  time. 


CHAPTER   LXXII. 


BELGIUM. 


S  Holland  and  Belgium  were  united  until 
the  revolution  of  1830,  one  would  naturally 
expect  to  find  the  customs,  manners,  and 
people  of  the  two  countries  much  alike. 
On  the  contrary,  they  are  so  dissimilar  that 
it  seems  strange  the  two  kingdoms  could 
have  remained  so  long  together  under  the 
same  laws  and  institutions.  .  The  Dutch  and  the  Belgians  re- 
semble each  other  in  their  industry,  thrift,  and  energy ;  but 
in  their  modes  of  thought,  and  in  their  temperamental  ten- 
dencies, they  reveal  no  kinship.  The  Belgians,  as  a  nation, 
are  less  conservative,  more  excitable  and  restless  than  the  Hol- 
landers, and,  consequently,  more  inclined  to  change. 

The  territory  of  Belgium  is  small,  compared  to  that  of  the 
great  European  powers,  being  only  about  one  eighth  as  large 
as  Great  Britain,  while  its  entire  population  is  little  beyond 
5,000,000.  What  there  is  of  soil,  however,  is  made  the  most 
of.  About  two-thirds  of  the  whole  kingdom  is  under  cultiva- 
tion, and  nearly  eight-ninths  is  put  to  profitable  use.  Of  the 
nine  provinces,  those  of  South  Brabant,  the  two  Flanders,  and 
Hainault  look  like  a  vast  garden.  The  population,  which  is 
the  densest  in  Europe,  is  composed  of  two  distinct  races — the 
( Flemish,  who  are  of  German,  and  the  Walloons,  who  are  of 
French  extraction.  The  former,  who  are  much  the  more  nu- 
merous, reside  principally  in  Flanders ;  but  a  great  many  of 
them  live  in  the  provinces  of  Antwerp,  Limburg,  and  South 
Brabant.     The  Flemings  speak  a  dialect  of  German,  and  the 


ANTWERP.  573 

Walloons  a  corruption  of  French,  including  words  and  phrases 
from  the  Spanish  and  other  languages.  The  government,  like 
that  of  Holland,  is  a  constitutional  monarchy,  based  on  the 
broadest  principles  of  rational  liberty.  Punishment  by  death 
has  been  abolished,  and  freedom  of  the  press,  religious  liberty, 
and  trial  by  jury,  have  been  established.  The  creed  of  the 
country  is  Roman  Catholic,  to  which  most  of  the  people,  at 
least  outwardly,  adhere ;  but  they  have  a  degree  of  breadth, 
toleration,  and  individuality  in  their  theology,  which  rarely 
prevails  among  the  Latin  nations. 

The  difference  between  the  Hollanders  and  the  Belgians  is 
well  illustrated  by  Amsterdam  and  Antwerp.  Both  of  them 
are  strictly  commercial  cities,  and  long-time  rivals.  They  have 
much  the  same  interests  and  the  same  ends.  Still,  they  im- 
press me  as  almost  opposite  in  many  things,  and  seem  ani- 
mated by  a  noticeably  dissimilar  spirit. 

I  first  saw  Antwerp  during  a  Great  National  Exhibition, 
as  it  was  called.  It  did  not  amount  to  much  as  an  exhibition ; 
but  all  the  provincialists  crowded  to  it,  and  regarded  it  as 
something  extraordinary,  which  was  well  for  a  stranger,  as  it 
furnished  an  ample  field  for  observation. 

Antwerp  is  not  so  peculiar  as  Amsterdam,  or  other  Holland 
towns ;  but  the  average  population,  the  majority  of  whom  are 
Flemings,  seem  unlike  the  people  of  any  other  part  of  Europe. 
They  are  as  attached  to  ancient  customs  as  the  Dutch ;  and, 
speaking,  for  the  most  part,  no  language  but  their  own,  are 
little  influenced  by  surrounding  nationalities.  The  upper 
classes  know  French,  and  are  generally  urbane ;  but  the  labor- 
ers and  mechanics  are  natural  even  to  rudeness  They  don't 
seem  to  have  moved  with  the  times,  and  impress  me  as  not 
quite  civilized.  Quiet,  if  not  always  good  manners  are  so 
general  on  the  Continent,  that  the  boisterous  spirit  of  the 
Flemings  is  very  noticeable.  They  laugh  and  jeer  at  each 
other,  and  raise  such  an  outcry  in  the  public  places,  that  I  sev- 
eral times  fancied  I  was  near  a  political  primary  in  one  of  the 
upper  wards  of  ISTew  York.  They  are  independent  and  in- 
dustrious, but  entirely  devoid  of  the  graces,  and  sublimely  in- 
different to  the  elegancies  of  life. 


574  A    VERY  CROOKED   CITY. 

Their  singular  manners  may  be  due  to  the  beer  they  drink, 
by  long  odds  the  worst  I  ever  tasted.  The  miserable  stuff  they 
call  lager  on  the  Island  of  Manhattan,  is  nectar  by  comparison. 
The  Antwerp  beer,  to  my  palate,  tastes  like  nothing  else  under 
the  sun;  is  thick,  muddy,  sour,  acrid,  mawkish,  and  might  be 
wisely  used  in  cases  where  nausea  is  desirable.  I  wish  I  had 
the  recipe  for  making  it.  Whenever  I  hated  a  man,  and  did 
not  wish  to  kill  him,  I'd  invite  him  to  drink  a  glass  of  Ant- 
werp beer. 

The  city  is  crookeder  than  Boston,  and  must  have  been 
built,  as  that  is  said  to  have  been,  on  cow-paths.  It  is  almost 
impossible  for  a  stranger  to  get  about,  or  to  find  any  given 
point  without  frequent  attempts  and  frequent  failures.  I  sev- 
eral times  left  my  hotel,  and,  under  the  belief  that  I  was  con- 
stantly going  away  from  it,  discovered  myself,  after  an  hour's 
walking,  back  at  the  point  of  starting.  There  is  little  archi- 
tecture to  speak  of  in  the  town,  the  churches  excepted ;  but 
the  quaint  old  houses,  six  or  seven  stories  high,  running  up  to 
a  point,  with  various  evidences  of  their  once  Spanish  owner- 
ship, are  curious  enough  to  make  a  ride  or  walk  through  the 
streets  desirable.  So  much  has  been  said  of  its  picturesque- 
ness,  that  the  city  defeated  my  expectations.  It  is  shaped  like 
a  bow,  the  walls  forming  the  semicircle,  and  the  river  Scheldt 
the  cord.  The  fortifications,  which  are  very  complete,  are 
nearly  three  miles  long,  including  the  strong  pentagonal  Cita- 
del, built  by  the  Duke  of  Alva.  Antwerp  reached  its  highest 
prosperity  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  when  it  was 
the  commercial  centre  of  Europe.  It  then  contained  200,000 
people ;  500  vessels  daily  entered  its  port,  and  2,500  ordinarily 
lay  there  at  anchor.  It  has  been  besieged,  sacked,  and  cap- 
tured again  and  again,  and  has  greatly  declined  since  the  mid- 
dle ages ;  but  of  late  years  it  has  acquired  a  new  growth  and 
impetus,  and  now  boasts  of  a  population  of  130,000,  with  a 
promising  future  once  more.  Of  its  200  tortuous  streets,  the 
Place  de  Meir  is  the  finest,  and  its  squares  are  often  spacious 
and  pleasant. 

Of  the  docks,  dock-yards,  and  basins,  constructed  by  Napo- 


NOTRE  DAME  AND  ITS   CHIMES.  575 

leon,  at  an  expense  of  $10,000,000,  only  the  basins  were  pre- 
served from  the  demolition  that  followed  his  downfall.  They 
are  now  converted  into  docks  lined  with  large  warehouses,  and 
the  harbor  thus  formed,  capacious  enough  to  admit  ships  of 
any  size,  and  easily  accommodating  1,000  vessels,  is  one  of  the 
best  on  the  globe. 

The  churches  are,  as  a  class,  quite  handsome,  not  to  say 
magnificent.  The  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  has  a  beautiful 
Gothic  spire,  estimated  from  400  to  466  feet,  but  certainly  one 
of  the  very  highest  in  Europe.  The  chimes  include  ninety- 
three  bells,  the  largest  weighing  nine  tons,  and  the  smallest 
only  one  hundred  pounds.  I  know  of  none  superior  to  them. 
Their  tone  is  very  soft,  and  their  time  unusually  exact.  They 
are  hung  so  high  you  hear  the  music  without  realizing  its 
source.  The  melody  seems  floating  in  the  air,  and  is  very 
pleasant,  unless  you  hear  too  much  of  it.  The  view  from  the 
tower  is  admirable. 

Notre  Dame  is  remarkable  for  its  paintings  by  Rubens — 
"  The  Descent  from  the  Cross,"  "  The  Elevation  of  the  Cross," 
"  The  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,"  and  "  The  Eesurrection  of 
the  Saviour." 

The  first  is  thought  by  many  to  be  his  chef  d'ceuvre,  and 
I  can  recall  none  of  his  works  that  are  better.  Still,  it  has  his 
usual  defects — coarseness,  incorrect  drawing,  and  confusion  of 
outline.  The  corpse  of  Jesus  is  admirable  in  its  anatomy,  its 
supine,  heavy  helplessness  ;  but  the  face  is  insignificant — 
totally  unlike  the  ideal  conception  of  the  Saviour.  The  two 
Marys  are  more  refined  in  appearance  than  Rubens's  women 
generally,  but  their  expression  conveys  well-bred  regret,  rather 
than  heart-broken  sorrow  and  overwhelming  desolation. 

"The  Elevation  of  the  Cross"  is  in  some  respects  superior 
to  the  "  Descent,"  and  the  coloring  is  excellent.  The  "  As- 
sumption" and  "Resurrection"  are  not  superior  to  many  of 
the  artist's  paintings. 

It  is  a  pity  both  of  Rubens's  wives  were  so  fleshy  and  gross 
in  person,  since  he  perpetually  reproduced  them.  Instead  of 
seeking  an  ideal,  he  copied  the  actual.     He  fancied,  strangely 


576  PAINTINGS  BY  RUBENS. 

enough,  that  his  corpulent  spouses  were  models  of  beauty,  and, 
consequently,  we  have  their  huge  breasts,  and  flaxen  hair,  and 
over-liberal  limbs,  in  every  picture  the  uxorious  husband  drew. 
There  is  something  singular  in  his  employing  his  genius  on 
Scriptural  subjects.  He  should  have  confined  himself  to 
Aphrodites  of  vast  avoirdupois,  to  wanton  nymphs  and  fawns, 
to  lascivious  Satyrs  and  sensual  Silenuses. 

The  Church  of  St.  Jacques  is  imposing  in  appearance,  and 
rich  in  marbles.  The  "  Crucifixion,"  by  Vandyke,  adorns  the 
walls,  and  is  one  of  his  best  paintings ;  and  the  "  Scourging 
of  Christ,"  by  Rubens,  is  well  worthy  of  admiration.  Ru- 
bens's  tomb  is  there,  and  is  the  principal  object  of  attraction. 

St.  Paul's  has  a  coarse  representation,  in  wood,  of  Calvary 
and  Purgatory,  which  many  of  the  Catholics  seem  to  admire. 
If  they  do,  it  is  less  creditable  to  their  taste  than  to  their  zeal. 
St.  Augustine  and  the  Church  of  the  Jesuits  are  noticeable 
edifices  internally  as  well  as  externally,  the  former  containing 
the  celebrated  altar-piece,  by  Rubens,  of  "The  Marriage  of 
St.  Catharine." 

The  rapidity  of  Rubens' s  execution  is  shown  by  the  receipt 
at  Mechlin,  in  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame.  The  receipt,  dated 
March  12,  1624,  is  for  eight  pictures  (among  them  the  "  Mirac- 
ulous Draught  of  fishes,"  and  the  "Worship  of  the  Magi") 
done  in  eighteen  days,  for  eighteen  hundred  florins. 

The  house  in  which  Rubens  died,  in  a  street  named  after 
the  painter,  is  frequently  visited  by  those  interested  in  art. 
The  house  is  commodious  and  comfortable,  considering  the 
time  of  its  erection — nearly  three  centuries  ago — and  was,  no 
doubt,  regarded  then  as  a  sumptuous  mansion.  After  the 
death  of  the  eminent  painter,  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  resided 
there,  and  entertained,  under  his  roof,  Charles  II.,  while  that 
royal  rowdy  was  in  exile. 

The  Zoological  Garden  of  Antwerp  has  one  of  the  larg- 
est and  best  collections  of  birds  and  animals  in  Europe.  It 
is  on  the  whole  superior  to  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation  in 
Paris,  and  not  a  whit  inferior  to  the  collection  in  the  Regent's 
Park,  London. 


THE  NATIONAL   FONDNESS  FOR  MUSIC.  577 

The  old  city  has  endeared  itself  to  many  feminine  hearts 
by  the  excellent  quality  of  its  black  silk,  which  is  a  specialty 
there.  Yery  few  women  who  go  to  Antwerp  leave  it  without 
carrying  with  them  a  memento  of  the  place  in  the  shape  of 
material  for  a  new  gown. 

Travelling  in  Belgium  is  both  cheap  and  convenient,  on 
account  of  the  admirable  system  of  railways  established  there, 
before  they  were  introduced  into  any  other  country  on  the 
Continent.  The  fare  is  the  lowest  in  the  world — hardly  more 
than  one  third  of  the  price  charged  in  Great  Britain. 

The  Belgians  as  a  people  are  much  gayer  than  their  Dutch 
neighbors,  having  an  inordinate  fondness  for  music  and  danc- 
ing. Musical  festivals  are  held  every  year  at  Antwerp,  Ghent, 
and  Bruges,  at  which  amateur  performers  contend  for  prizes 
awarded  to  the  most  skilful  and  accomplished.  At  such  times 
there  is  great  emulation  among  the  people  of  the  different 
provinces  and  districts,  and  those  who  win  prizes  receive  the 
most  tumultuous  ovations.  The  victorious  musicians  are  often 
mounted  on  platforms,  and  borne  through  the  streets  in  pro- 
cession, with  flags,  banners,  and  devices,  amid  the  wildest  shout- 
ing and  yelling  of  the  crowd.  The  first  demonstration  I  saw 
of  this  sort  I  mistook  for  a  mob.  I  followed  the  throng  for  a 
long  distance,  expecting  every  minute  that  its  uproarious  mem- 
bers would  stop  before  some  house  and  undertake  its  demolition. 
I  could  not  comprehend  that  any  mass  of  human  beings  could 
be  so  excited  and  make  such  an  outcry  without  having  a  griev- 
ance, and  when  I  learned  that  all  the  ado  was  in  honor  of  a 
man  who  had  played  on  a  fiddle  or  a  clarionet,  I  felt  that  the 
effect  was  altogether  disproportioned  to  the  cause. 

So  far  as  din  and  clatter  go,  the  Belgians  are  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  Hollanders,  who  are  unusually  quiet,  while  the 
Flemings  and  Walloons  seem  to  me  the  noisiest,  on  the  smallest 
provocation,  of  any  people  in  the  Old  World. 

The  Belgians,  still  more  than  the  Germans,  appear  to  have 
a  national  love  of  music.  Even  the  laboring  classes  have  con- 
siderable skill  in  mastering  instruments,  and  most  of  them 
have  naturally  good  voices.  I  have  heard  peasants  walking 
37 


578  A  MERRY  PEOPLE. 

along  the  highways,  and  working  in  the  fields,  singing  so 
sweetly  and  accurately  as  to  arrest  at  once  any  cultivated  ear. 
It  is  to  this  appreciation  of  melody,  no  doubt,  that  the  numer- 
ous chimes  of  Belgium  owe  their  origin.  No  considerable  city 
in  the  country  is  without  these  carillons,  which  from  tower 
and  spire  fling  out  their  soft  music  at  almost  every  hour  of  the 
day  and  night. 

The  lower  and  middle  classes  are  greatly  addicted  to  balls, 
given  on  summer  evenings  in  the  gardens  of  the  public  houses  in 
the  suburbs  of  the  towns.  A  large  platform  is  made  for  the 
dancers,  who  go  through  the  measures  with  a  fervor  and  vigor 
seldom  equalled,  and  never  surpassed.  Again  and  again,  watch- 
ing the  men  and  women  at  these  garden  entertainments,  I  have 
been  lost  in  wonder  that  they  would  work  so  hard  without  lib- 
eral compensation.  They  not  only  dance  themselves  crimson 
and  moist,  but  they  often  sacrifice  manners  and  clothes  in  the 
ardor  and  exaltation  of  their  exercise.  Even  the  unrestrained 
bacchants  of  the  Closerie  scarcely  excel  the  Belgians,  whirling 
through  the  late  hours  of  the  night,  flushed  with  excitement 
and  beer. 

The  tourist  finds  in  Belgium  much  less  monotony  than  in 
Holland.  Though  level  and  low  toward  the  north  and  west, 
it  is  rugged  and  rather  high  on  the  southeast,  in  the  region  of 
the  Ardennes,  with  whose  forests  Shakespeare,  though  he  never 
saw  them,  has  made  us  so  familiar.  Nearly  one  fifth  of  the 
whole  kingdom  is  wooded,  mainly  Luxemburg  and  Namur, 
where  the  forests  are  very  dense.  In  the  provinces  of  Antwerp 
and  Limburg,  is  a  vast  expanse  of  woodland,  called  Campine, 
so  sterile  that  hardly  anything  but  common  heather  and  lichen 
will  grow  upon  it.  With  the  exception  of  those  two  districts, 
agriculture,  owing  to  the  extraordinary  economy  and  industry 
of  the  people,  flourishes  everywhere.  The  Belgians  were  once 
regarded,  and  still  deserve  to  be  regarded,  to  a  certain  extent 
as  the  model  formers  of  Europe.  So  unsparing  of  labor  and  so 
painstaking,  it  is  not  strange  that  with  their  agriculture,  their 
rich  mines,  their  manufactures,  and  their  commerce,  they  have 
always  prospered  under  circumstances  which  are  the  opposite 
of  favorable. 


THE  VCITY  OF  LIEGE.  579 

Going  to  see  Liege  (situated  in  the  eastern  part  of  the 
kingdom,  in  the  middle  of  a  plain  surrounded  by  mountains, 
and  at  the  junction  of  the  Meuse  and  Ourthe)  is  easier  to  talk 
of  than  to  do,  from  the  fact  that  the  town  is  always  enveloped 
in  smoke.  It  may  well  be  called  the  Birmingham  of  Belgium, 
for  it  is  almost  entirely  a  manufacturing  city,  and  has  few  nat- 
ural or  artificial  attractions.  The  picturesqueness  which  one 
finds  in  so  many  of  the  Belgian  towns  is  wholly  lacking  there. 
The  streets  are  narrow  and  dirty,  often  steep,  while  the  build- 
ings are  dingy,  dreary,  and  so  high  as  to  exclude  both  air  and 
sunshine.  The  great  staple  of  manufacture  is  iron,  and  the 
specialties  are  fire-arms  and  machinery,  in  which  it  surpasses 
France,  and  nearly  rivals  England.  Several  of  its  quays  are 
ornamented  with  shade-trees,  and  serve  with  its  ten  or  twelve 
public  squares  for  promenades.  The  Church  of  St.  Jacques  is 
large  and  handsome,  and  the  tracery  and  fret-work  of  its  in- 
terior are  not  excelled  anywhere.  Liege  has  a  number  of 
suburbs  and  adjoining  villages,  all  devoted  to  manufactures 
of  one  kind  or  another,  and  with  these  has  a  population  of 
about  120,000.  It  was  founded  in  the  sixth  century,  and  has 
been  prominent  in  history,  having  been  besieged  and  captured 
by  the  Duke  of  Brabant,  Charles  the  Bold,  Marshal  Boufflers 
and  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  In  the  middle  ages  the  re- 
peated conflicts  between  the  citizens  and  their  Bishops,  and 
between  the  Bishops  and  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy,  imbued  the 
old  town  with  a  good  deal  of  romance,  of  which  Walter  Scott 
took  advantage  in  his  "  Quentin  Durward."  But  machinery, 
manufactures,  and  mere  money-making  have  brought  Liege 
down  to  the  level  of  nineteenth  century  practicality,  and  dis- 
pelled every  vestige  of  the  picturesque  past.  On  the  whole,  I 
was  hardly  repaid  for  the  trouble  of  going  there ;  for  all  the 
sights  of  the  city  are  obscure,  and  in  such  an  atmosphere  sen- 
sations are  impossible. 


CHAPTER   LXXIIL 


GHENT    AND   THE    GANTOIS. 


;IIENT  is  associated  with  American  history  by 
the  treaty  concluded  there  December  24,  1814, 
which  ended  the  war  between  Great  Britain  and 
the  United  States.  Moreover,  Motley  has  done 
so  much  by  his  eloquent  history,  to  render  Bel- 
gium attractive,  that  one  might  suppose  our  countrymen  would 
haunt  its  ancient  cities  from  a  feeling  akin  to  patriotism.  They 
are  prone  to  think,  however,  after  looking  at  Brussels,  which 
is  Paris  seen  through  the  reversed  end  of  a  telescope,  and, 
possibly,  after  dashing  through  the  crooked,  almost  circular, 
streets  of  Antwerp,  that  they  have  exhausted  all  that  is  notable 
and  curious  in  Flanders.  They  either  forget,  or  are  too  indif- 
-ferent  to  remember,  that  Bruges,  Ghent,  Ypres,  and  Mechlin 
more  thoroughly  represent  the  old  spirit  and  time  than  any  of 
the  other  cities.  Pew  who  have  tarried  in  those  quaint  cor- 
ners of  civilization  but  will  recollect  their  sojourn  as  both  pleas- 
ant and  profitable. 

That  many  persons  confound  Holland  and  Belgium  is  not 
at  all  odd.  Bruges  and  Ghent,  with  their  fortifications,  canals, 
and  bridges,  vividly  recall  Leyden  and  Amsterdam ;  while  the 
Flemings,  though  in  many  respects,  as  I  have  said,  very  un- 
like, show  striking  resemblances  to  the  Dutch. 

Ghent  is  certainly  a  unique  city.  Its  situation,  at  once  pe- 
culiar and  picturesque,  is  at  the  confluence  of  the  Lys  and  the 
Scheldt,  on  the  Terneuzen  canal,  communicating  with  the  sea. 
It  occupies  a  triangle  of  the  fertile  plain ;  is  surrounded  by 
walls  and  entered  by  gates,  with  numerous  canals  dividing  it 
into  twenty-six  islands,  connected  with  each  other  by  ninety 


THE  FLEMINGS.  581 

bridges,  great  and  small.  The  city  boasts  of  its  fine  prome- 
nades, the  chief  of  them,  the  Coupure,  between  rows  of  hand- 
some trees,  skirting  the  Bruges  canal.  Strangers  may  be  par- 
doned for  not  admiring  the  promenades  so  much  as  the  natives, 
who,  for  centuries,  have  cheerfully  borne  the  delusion  that 
Ghent  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  delightful  places  in 
either  hemisphere. 

In  some  of  the  older  quarters  of  the  town,  the  streets  are 
dark  and  very  narrow ;  but  the  houses,  with  gable  fronts, 
rising  tier  above  tier,  look  so  fantastic,  so  unlike  anything  we 
have  at  home,  that  it  is  easy  to  elevate  the  picturesque  above 
the  merely  pleasant,  and  receive  mental  gratification  therefrom. 
On  the  whole,  however,  the  city  is  well  and  very  substantially 
built,  containing  a  number  of  public  squares,  among  which 
the  principal  are  the  Cauter,  planted  with  lime  trees;  St. 
Pierre,  used  for  reviews  and  military  exercises ;  St.  Pharailde 
— the  gate  of  the  Castle  of  the  Counts  of  Flanders  still  stands 
there — and  the  Itecollets,  flanked  by  conspicuous  mansions 
and  large  hotels.  The  most  notable  of  the  squares  is  the 
Vrydags  Market  (Friday  market),  where  the  counts  of  Flan- 
ders were  once  inaugurated,  and  the  famous  trades  unions  for- 
merly assembled,  where  Jacques  Yon  Arterelde  first  aroused 
the  popular  tumults  by  which  he  finally  perished,  and  where 
the  infamous  Duke  of  Alva  kindled  and  fed  the  fires  of  the 
Inquisition.  The  markets — held  every  Friday,  as  the  name  in- 
dicates— furnish  excellent  opportunities  for  observing  the  man- 
ners and  studying  the  character  of  the  people. 

The  Flemings  seem  quite  different  from  any  of  the  nation- 
alities of  the  Continent.  They  have  the  industry  and  energy 
of  the  Dutch,  the  versatility  and  sensibility  of  the  Italians, 
the  violence  and  obstinacy  of  the  Spaniards,  and  the  vanity 
and  excitability  of  the  French.  They  have  always  appeared 
to  me  the  most  variable  and  emotional  people  in  Europe.  I 
have  known  them  to  laugh,  and  talk,  and  weep,  and  rage,  all 
in  one  breath.  With  a  large  basis  of  character  and  firmness, 
they  show  themselves,  at  times,  as  mercurial  as  quicksilver, 
and  as  unstable  as  water. 


582  THE  MARKET-PLACE. 

The  market-place  at  Ghent  is  illustrative  of  the  Flemings, 
as  history  reveals  them.  Their  talk  and  jests,  their  ehaffer- 
ings  and  bickerings,  show  clearly  enough  that  their  ancestors 
might  have  sided  with  Louis  of  Crecy  to-day,  and  the  Ruwaert 
to-morrow.  Humor  and  irritability  are  theirs  to  a  large  de- 
gree ;  and  one  never  feels  sure  that  what  they  begin  in  a  joke, 
they  may  not  end  with  a  quarrel.  Yery  little,  if  any,  of  the 
German  or  Teutonic  element  is  perceptible  in  their  nature ;  and 
yet  they  have  the  sturdiness,  and  many  of  the  sterling  qualities 
belonging  to  that  race.  The  Flemings  seem  to  have  been  in- 
fluenced and  moulded  less  by  the  homogeneous  tendencies  of 
the  present  century  than  any  of  their  neighbors.  There  is 
still  a  middle-age  savor  and  suggestion  about  them,  which 
brings  back  the  battle  of  Bruges,  the  defeat  of  Peter  du  Bois, 
the  surrender  of  Ypres,  and  the  desperate  struggle  of  Ros- 
becque. 

Many  of  the  provincialists  who  carry  their  products  and 
wares,  especially  linens,  to  market,  look  in  their  quaint  and  fre- 
quently fanciful  costumes  as  if  they  had  stepped  out  of  the  four- 
teenth or  fifteenth  century  to  light  their  pipes,  or  chatter  ram- 
blingly  in  the  ancient  square.  At  the  Friday  market,  the  tourist 
can  see  more  of  the  characteristics  and  idiosyncrasies  of  the  Flem- 
ings than  anywhere  else  in  Belgium.  One  of  the  curiosities 
in  the  neighborhood  is  a  large  cannon,  ten  feet  in  circumfer- 
ence, nineteen  feet  long,  and  three  feet  in  diameter  at  the 
mouth,  called  Dulle  Griete  (Mad  Margaret),  and  supposed  to 
be  a  near  relative  of  the  Mons  Meg  at  Edinburgh  Castle. 

The  principal  buildings  are  the  Church  of  St.  Nicolas,  the 
oldest  in  Ghent ;  St.  Michael,  containing  a  fine  Crucifixion  by 
Vandyke ;  St.  Pierre,  notable  for  its  handsome  dome,  and  St. 
Bavon,  a  vast,  though  somewhat  ungraceful  and  richly  decora- 
ted cathedral.  The  Belfroi  (Belfry),  a  high  square  tower  crown- 
ed with  a  gilt  dragon,  has  a  clock,  several  large  bells,  and  a 
very  musical  chime,  which  some  persons  prefer  to  the  more 
famous  chimes  of  Bruges  and  Antwerp. 

The  Beguinage,  surrounded  by  a  wall  and  moat,  is  a  nun- 
nery, in  whose  cloisters  are  immured  six  or  seven  hundred  wo- 


THE  BEGUINAOE.  583 

men  who  believe  that  by  an  unnatural  and  over-rigorous  life 
of  seclusion  they  have  consecrated  themselves  to  Heaven. 
Their  vows  have  now  ceased  to  be  compulsory.  They  can 
return  to  the  world  when  they  please,  and  consequently  none 
of  them  avail  themselves  of  the  privilege.  Some  of  the  nuns 
are  said  to  belong  to  the  best  families  of  the  kingdom.  From 
supremely  religious  fervor,  or  from  mismanagement  of  their  af- 
fections, they  have  surrendered  pride  of  place  and  position  in 
society  to  mutter  prayers  and  tell  their  rosaries,  in  hope  of 
forgetting  the  melancholy  past,  and  achieving  a  blessed  future. 

Any  one  would  mistake  the  Beguinage  for  a  castle  ;  and  it 
may  have  been  built  under  the  conviction — not  wholly  irra- 
tional— that  those  inside  want  to  get  out,  and  that  those  outside 
wish  to  get  in.  The  Beguin  nuns  are  not  too  absorbed  by 
spiritual  duties  to  devote  part  of  their  time  to  the  working  of  lace 
and  embroidery,  remarkable  for  the  delicacy  of  its  texture  and 
the  beauty  of  its  finish,  and  which,  though  sold  from  the  nun- 
nery at  a  small  figure,  commands  in  Paris,  London  and  New 
York  the  highest  price. 

The  new  theatre  is  handsome  and  commodious.  The  lit- 
erary, scientific,  artistic,  and  charitable  institutions  are  numer- 
ous. The  Societe  Matrimoniale  has  for  its  object  the  legiti- 
mation of  what  the  French  call  enfants  oV  amour,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  benevolent  enterprises  in  Ghent.  Its  members — 
made  up,  I  have  understood,  from  the  best  families  in  the  city — 
have  done  a  vast  deal  of  good  by  bringing  about  the  marriage 
of  the  parents  of  the  unfortunate  offspring  who  would  other- 
wise be  abandoned  to  the  cold  charities  of  the  world.  They 
make  it  their  business  to  discover  the  paternity  of  the  infants, 
and  the  circumstances  under  which  they  were  born,  and  ex- 
haust all  the  means  of  moral  suasion  to  strengthen  the  frailties 
of  the  fathers  and  mothers  by  wedlock.  Delicate  and  doubtful 
as  such  a  mission  seems,  the  success  that  has  attended  it  has 
been  as  gratifying  as  it  might  be  unexpected. 

The  extent  of  its  cotton  manufactures,  employing  some 
$10,000,000  of  capital,  and  over  30,000  workmen,  has  given 
Ghent  the  name  of  the  Belgian  Manchester.     Its  other  manu- 


584  THE   GANTOIS. 

factures,  especially  of  Flemish  linen — some  20,000  pieces  are 
offered  for  sale  at  the  market  every  Friday — are  very  large 
and  important,  and  the  annual  fairs  are  attended  by  Dutch, 
French,  English,  German,  and  even  Italian  merchants,  in  great 
numbers. 

Celebrated  as  Ghent  has  been  in  history,  its  origin  is  un- 
certain. The  first  known  of  it  as  a  town  was  in  the  seventh 
century,  though  it  does  not  seem  to  have  acquired  importance 
for  nearly  five  hundred  years  after,  when  it  aspired  to  promi- 
nence, and  completed  its  fortifications.  At  that  time  it  occupied 
only  the  space  between  the  Lys  and  Scheldt ;  but,  toward  the 
close  of  the  thirteenth  century,  it  was  almost  as  populous  as  it 
is  now.  Of  late  years  it  has  greatly  improved,  and  the  Gantois 
at  present  claim  that  they  number  150,000  souls..  It  was  so 
much  larger  then  than  Paris,  that  Charles  V.,  who  was  born 
there,  might  have  said,  had  he  been  alive,  as  he  said  nearly 
two  centuries  later — "  Je  mettrais  Paris  dans  mon  Gant 
(Gand)."  *  Few  cities  have  been  the  scene  of  more  turbu- 
lence and  fighting.  Its  citizens  for  several  centuries  were  en- 
gaged in  civil  discords  and  foreign  wars,  and  their  courage  was 
seldom  abated  by  the  greatest  suffering  or  the  most  disastrous 
defeat.  Even  when  Charles  V.  was  at  the  height  of  his  power, 
greater  and  stronger  than  any  monarch  since  Charlemagne, 
the  Gantois  did  not  hesitate  to  resist  with  arms  the  exaction  of 
his  subsidy,  and  were  dreadfully  punished  for  their  audacity. 
The  Citadel,  which  is  still  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  objects 
in  the  town,  the  subdued  Gantois  were  compelled  to  erect  at 
their  own  expense,  though  they  knew  it  was  designed  to  keep 
them  in  an  odious  subjection. 

Ghent  is  extremely  peaceful  now,  and  seems  to  be  as  much 
surrendered  to  trade  and  commerce  as  it  has  been  in  the  past  to 
riot  and  revolution,  conspiracy  and  bloodshed.  But,  amid  its 
factories  and  warehouses,  its  breweries  and  machine-shops,  its 
bustling  streets  and  crowded  wharves,  the  virtues  of  the  an- 
cient burgesses,  and  the  spirit  of  the  Arteveldes  still  survive. 

*  "  I  could  put  Paris  into  my  glove  (Ghent)." 


CHAPTEE  LXXIV. 


BRUGES    AND    BRUSSELS. 


JjjgllU-  O  quit  Belgium  without  going  to  Bruges 
would  not  indicate  a  traveller's  wisdom,  for 
this  town,  with  Antwerp  and  Ghent,  com- 
pletes the  trio  of  the  most  interesting  cities. 
Like  Ghent,  Bruges  retains  so  much  of  its 
mediaeval  character,  that  it  can  hardly  fail 
to  enchain  the  attention,  and  stir  the  mem- 
ory of  the  most  careless  tourist.     Scarcely  any  one 
in  entering  it  but  will  recall  Southey's  lines  of  apos- 
trophe : 

"  Fair  city,  worthy  of  her  ancient  fame, 
The  season  of  her  splendor  has  gone  by ; 

Yet  everywhere  its  monuments  remain. 

Temples  which  rear  their  stately  heads  on  high, 

Canals  that  intersect  the  fertile  plain — 

Wide  streets  and  squares,  with  many  a  court  and  hall, 
Spacious  and  undefaced  ; — but  ancient  all." 

The  first  object  I  sought  was  the  famous  Halles  with  the 
Gothic  Belfry,  a  lofty  tower  standing  in  the  Grande  Place, 
the  principal  square  of  the  town,  and  considered  the  finest 
structure  of  the  kind  in  all  Europe.  The  Belfry  has  fifty 
bells,  ranging  from  six  tons  in  weight  to  a  few  hundred  pounds, 
which  are  played  by  means  of  an  immense  cylinder  communi- 
cating with  the  clock.  As  these  chimes  are  rung  four  times 
an  hour,  they  seem  to  be  sounding  incessantly.  They  are 
very  sweet  in  tone,  and  rank  higher  in  musical  reputation  than 
any  of  the  famous  carillons  of  the  kingdom.     They  have  such 


586  THE  FAMOUS  BELFRY. 

a  peculiar,  dreamy  and  tranquillizing  effect  as  their  melody 
comes  and  goes  with  the  changing  breeze,  that  it  seems  I 
should  never  tire  of  them.  I  might  alter  my  opinion,  how- 
ever, if  I  were  a  permanent  resident  instead  of  a  mere  loiterer 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood.  On  festival  days,  a  profes- 
sional musician,  regularly  employed  for  the  purpose,  performs 
exquisite  airs  on  the  chimes  by  striking  on  immense  keys.  His 
hands  are  covered  with  thick  leather,  and  the  work  is  said  to 
be  so  hard  that  he  is  compelled  to  stop  every  quarter  of  an 
hour  from  excessive  -fatigue. 

Bruges  takes  its  name  from  its  bridges,  of  which  there  are 
some  fifty  crossing  the  canal.  Nearly  all  the  prominent  build- 
ings are  Gothic,  built  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  decorated 
with  sculpture  and  paintings.  One  of  the  most  conspicuous 
of  these  is  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  in  which  Charles  the 
Bold  is  buried.  Other  notable  structures  are  the  Church  of 
St.  Sauveur,  the  Palace  of  Justice,  the  Hospital  of  St.  John, 
and  the  Hotel  de  Yille.  The  last  contains  a  public  library 
with  many  rare  and  valuable  manuscripts.  The  scheme  of  a 
lottery  drawn  in  Bruges  in  1445  is  to  be  seen  there,  which 
makes  it  probable  that  this  species  of  gambling  originated  in 
Belgium.  At  one  of  the  windows  of  the  Hotel,  the  old  Flem- 
ish Counts  took  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  laws. 

The  Church  of  Jerusalem,  founded  by  Pierre  Adorner, 
contains  an  exact  representation  of  the  supposed  tomb  of 
Christ  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem. 

In  the  council  chamber  of  the  Palace  of  Justice  is  a  curi- 
ous chimney-piece  with  life-sized  figures  of  Charles  V.,  the 
Emperor  Maximilian,  Charles  the  Bold,  and  his  wife  Margaret 
of  York. 

An  excellent  institution  is  the  Mont  de  Piete,  not  a  mere 
pawnbroker's  office,  as  the  name  usually  implies  on  the  Conti- 
nent, but  a  benevolent  establishment  where  the  poor,  by  pledg- 
ing securities,  can  obtain  money  at  a  low  rate  of  interest.  It 
is  indeed  a  Mount  of  Piety  which  ought  to  be  reproduced  in 
every  town  of  any  size  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  It  does 
incalculable  good  in  Bruges,  and  is  a  practical  charity  whose 
excellence  it  is  difficult  to  over-estimate. 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  587 

Philip  the  Good,  Duke  of  Burgundy,  instituted  in  that 
city  in  1430  the  Order  of  the  Golden  Fleece  out  of  compli- 
ment to  the  Flemish  weavers  who  had  brought  their  manufac- 
ture of  wool  to  such  a  state  of  perfection. 

In  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  (its  lofty  tower  can  be 
seen,  it  is  said,  on  very  clear  days,  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Thames,  though  I  doubt  if  any  day  was  ever  clear  enough  for 
that),  in  the  Hospital  of  St.  John,  the  Church  of  St.  Sauveur, 
and  the  Academy  of  Paintings,  are  many  fine  pictures,  the 
best  of  which  are  by  Memling,  Yan  Eyck  (to  any  one  who 
admires  their  style  of  art),  Vandyke,  and  others  of  the  Flem- 
ish school. 

When  I  left  Cologne,  I  supposed  I  had  gotten  rid  of  the 
eleven  thousand  virgins  of  St.  Ursula;  but  I  found  the  absurd 
fable  commemorated  in  Bruges  by  paintings  on  the  side  of  the 
cofiin,  presumed  to  contain  the  arm  of  that  much  massacred 
lady,  which  is  kept  as  a  precious  relic  in  the  Hospital  of  St. 
John. 

The  convent  of  the  Beguin  nuns,  similar  to,  but  much 
smaller  than  that  of  Ghent,  is  in  the  city.  Convents  and  mon- 
asteries, once  very  numerous,  have  been  mostly  suppressed 
there,  as  in  other  centres  of  Koman  Catholicism.  A  number 
of  the  old  monasteries  in  different  quarters  have  long  been  de- 
serted, and  are  crumbling  to  decay;  while  others  have  been 
devoted  to  what  is  known  as  secular,  meaning  more  valuable 
and  desirable,  uses. 

Bruges  was  fortified  by  Count  Baldwin  of  the  Iron  Arm 
in  837,  and  walled  some  two  centuries  after.  During  the 
Hanse  League  it  was  the  leading  market  of  middle  northern 
Europe,  and  became  very  rich  and  prosperous.  Injured  by 
success,  as  the  Flemings  always  were  in  their  early  history, 
they  waxed  insolent  and  turbulent,  and  toward  the  close  of 
the  fifteenth  century  they  rebelled  against  Duke  Maximilian  ; 
threw  him  into  prison,  and  suffered  severely  by  the  measures  of 
suppression  adopted  against  them.  The  odious  Duke  of  Alva 
completed  their  misfortunes,  and  many  of  their  best  artisana 
sought  safety  and  employment  in  England. 


588  THE  FEMININE  PASSION  FOR  LACE. 

Bruges  has  in  turn  been  the  asylum  of  two  of  the  fugitive 
English  Kings,  of  Edward  IV.,  when  the  war  of  the  Roses 
drove  him  from  his  kingdom,  and  of  Charles  II.,  in  his  com- 
pulsory exile.  The  house  inhabited  by  the  Merry  Monarch 
still  stands  on  the  south  side  of  the  great  square,  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  St.  Arnaud ;  and  when  I  saw  it  last,  it  bore  the 
sign  "  Au  Lion  Beige." 

The  population  of  Bruges,  in  its  palmy  days,  was  225,000. 
Now — and  it  has  grown  materially  within  a  few  years — it  has 
not,  at  the  outside,  more  than  55,000. 

Brussels  would  be  interesting  if  one  had  not  seen  the  French 
capital,  which  the  Belgian  city  has  imitated  in  everything. 
Brussels  is  proud  of  its  reputation  as  the  miniature  Paris,  of 
its  French  manners,  French  customs,  French  toilettes,  and  even 
of  its  French  affectations.     The  Belgians  resident  there  claim 
that  they  speak  purer  French  than  the  Parisians,  just  as  the 
Irish  of  Dublin  insist  that  their  English  is  better  than  that  of 
the  Londoners,  which  might  be  without  any  alarming  approach 
to  perfection.     The  principal  attraction  of  the  place  to  women 
is,  that  Mechlin  and  Brussels  laces  can  be  had  in  the  latter  city 
on  advantageous  terms.     The  feminine  mind  seems  somewhat 
deranged  on  the  subject  of  laces ;    but  the  derangement  is 
harmless — except   to   the   pocket-book.      I   don't  think   any 
woman  could  be  quite  happy  in  a  world  where  laces  could  not 
be  purchased ;  and  they  so  abound  in  Brussels  that  many  of 
the  sex  might  be  content  to  spend  their  lives  there.     I  have 
for  years  endeavored  to  discover  the  mysterious  fascination  of 
Mechlin,  Grammont,  Brussels,  Point,  and  Valenciennes,  but  it 
is  quite  beyond  me.     I  understand  it  through  sympathy,  how- 
ever, and  if  I  were  an  angler  for  feminine  souls,  I  should  bait 
my  hook  with  the  rarest  and  most  expensive  lace  I  could 
find.    There  are  various  factories  in  Brussels,  in  which  women 
are  exclusively  employed.     To  put  the  poor  creatures  to  work 
over  laces  they  cannot  possess  is  tantalizing  and  cruel  to  the 
last  degree. 

Belgium  is  an  excellent  field  for  shopping,  and  when  vis- 
ited by  women,  is  devoted  to  purchases,  very  much  as  it  has 


THE  MANNIKIN.  589 

been  devoted  to  fighting  by  the  transatlantic  nations,  who  have 
made  it  the  battle-field  of  Europe. 

Brussels,  the  capital  and  metropolis  of  the  kingdom,  is 
handsomely  situated  on  the  river  Senne.  The  principal  portion 
is  built  on  a  hill,  and  from  a  western  point  of  view  reminds  me 
somewhat  of  Genoa  or  Naples.  The  old  town,  which  is  in 
the  lower  part,  has  narrow,  crooked  streets,  and  few  attrac- 
tions ;  but  the  new  town  is  elegantly  laid  out,  and  has  numer- 
ous squares,  the  most  noted,  the  Place  Eoyale,  the  Place  de  la 
Monnaie,  and  the  Place  des  Martyres.  The  old  fortifications 
have  been  razed,  and  on  their  site  are  beautiful  boulevards  and 
promenades,  shaded  with  linden  trees,  and  running  around 
the  city  to  the  distance  of  nearly  five  miles.  The  Hotel  de 
Yille,  in  the  lower  town,  is  a  noble  Gothic  structure,  with  a  spire 
of  open  stonework,  370  feet  high.  It  was  erected  in  1400,  and 
in  1555  its  grand  hall  was  the  scene  of  the  abdication  of 
Charles  Y.  From  the  tower  an  excellent  view  can  be  had, 
you  are  told,  of  the  field  of  Waterloo.  This,  however,  is  a 
mere  deception  to  aid  the  sacristan  or  some  one  of  his  numer- 
ous assistants  to  obtain  an  extra  franc.  I  tried  the  experiment, 
and  I  succeeded,  though  not  before  I  had  engaged  a  carriage 
and  driven  beyond  the  historic  village. 

Many  of  the  churches  are  imposing, — the  finest  of  them  is 
the  Cathedral  of  St.  Gudule,  six  centuries  old, — and  contain 
fine  sculptures  and  paintings. 

Of  the  many  fountains  in  the  city  the  most  celebrated  is 
the  Mannikin,  at  the  corner  of  a  street  near  the  Hotel  de  Yille. 
This  is  the  bronze  figure  of  a  small  boy,  more  naturally  than 
modestly  occupied,  to  which  the  citizens  are  so  much  attached 
that  their  feeling  almost  amounts  to  veneration.  On  festival 
days,  they  are  in  the  habit  of  dressing  the  little  urchin  in  uni- 
form, and  tricking  him  out  in  a  variety  of  costumes.  The 
common  people  are  superstitious  in  regard  to  the  Mannikin, 
regarding  it  in  some  mysterious  way  as  the  palladium  of  their 
liberty,  and  the  guarantee  of  their  privileges. 

Brussels  enjoys  all  the  advantages  of  a  metropolis ;  has 
picture-galleries,  libraries,  scientific  and  literary  institutes,  and 


590  WATERLOO. 

valuable  collections  of  various  sorts.  Indeed,  it  would  be,  as  I 
have  said,  a  most  interesting  and  delightful  city,  were  it  not 
such  a  copy  in  miniature  of  Paris,  and  were  it  not  determined 
to  sneeze  whenever  the  French  capital  takes  snuff. 

Before  the  Rebellion,  "Waterloo  seemed  to  Americans  to 
have  been  a  great  battle ;  but  since  then,  having  had  so  much 
fighting  on  their  own  soil  on  a  more  extensive  scale,  they  are 
less  interested  in  the  contest  by  which  Bonaparte  lost  his 
power  and  his  throne.  The  exact  merits  of  that  memorable 
struggle  will  always  be  regarded  differently  by  the  English, 
Prussians,  and  French ;  but  the  victory,  to  unbiased  nations, 
does  not  seem  so  glorious  when  it  is  remembered  that  140,000 
men,  with  380  pieces  of  cannon,  defeated  an  army  of  75,000, 
with  only  240  guns. 

Waterloo  is  always  associated  with  Brussels.  Everybody 
remembers,  and  too  many  persons  quote  the  stereotyped 
stanza  of  Byron,  "  There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night," 
etc.  I  have  no  special  fondness  for  battle-fields,  perhaps  be- 
cause I  have  seen  how  they  are  made ;  but  I  could  not 
resist  the  inclination  to  visit  the  spot  on  which  Napoleon 
was  beaten  by  circumstances,  rather  than  by  Wellington,  who, 
as  a  captain,  does  not  deserve  to  be  mentioned  on  the  same 
day  with  the  victor  of  Jena  and  Austerlitz.  I  supposed  I 
should  not  be  repaid  for  my  trouble,  and  I  was  not.  The 
ground  is  rolling,  and  well  calculated  for  a  grand  fight,  the 
various  hillocks  serving  very  well  to  cover  the  reserves  of  the 
allies.  I  looked  in  vain  for  the  sunken  road  of  Ohaine,  or  any 
trace  of  it.  That  is  a  melodramatic  invention  of  Hugo,  and 
he  makes  effective  use  of  it  in  his  really  brilliant  description  of 
the  great  contest. 

If  Grouchy  had  engaged  Blucher,  as  he  was  appointed  to 
do,  instead  of  losing  his  way,  as  he  declared  he  did,  and  for 
which  there  was  no  excuse,  the  result  of  the  battle  would  have 
been  different.  Napoleon  had  calculated  correctly,  and  had 
victory  in  his  hands ;  but  he  could  not  foresee  blunders — or 
treachery — and  so  was  defeated  when  he  had  most  reason  to 
expect  a  glorious  triumph. 


ANNOYING    GUIDES.  591 

The  guides  are  a  nuisance  of  the  first  water,  and  I  peremp- 
torily declined  to  avail  myself  of  their  energetically  proffered 
services.  If  you  have  any  idea  of  the  field  when  you  go  upon 
the  ground,  they  drive  it  out  of  your  head  by  their  polyglot 
jabbering  about  positions,  generals,  corps,  cavalry,  artillery, 
infantry,  and  a  number  of  terms  they  do  not  understand.  The 
impostors  who  vend  "  mementos  "  of  Waterloo  are  a  greater 
source  of  annoyance  than  the  guides.  The  bullets,  fragments 
of  shell,  canes,  etc.,  which  they  offer  for  sale,  are  made,  it  is 
well  known,  in  a  small  town  near  Brussels;  and  yet  many 
persons  are  foolish  enough  to  buy  them,  corroborating  the 
proverb  respecting  the  facility  of  divorce  between  a  fool  and 
his  finances. 

There  is  nothing  very  remarkable  on  the  battle-field,  which 
is  now  carefully  cultivated,  and,  when  I  saw  it,  bore  a  plen- 
tiful crop  of  corn.  The  farms  of  Hougoumont  and  Belle  Alli- 
ance, the  monuments  to  the  Hanoverians  and  to  Col.  Gordon, 
the  Lion  of  Waterloo,  and  the  monument  of  the  Lion,  from 
the  summit  of  which  the  best  view  is  obtained,  are  the  places 
and  objects  usually  visited  by  tourists,  who  seldom  quit  the 
field  with  any  clearer  idea  than  they  had  before  visiting  it,  of 
the  most  decisive  combat  of  modern  times. 

Having  conducted  the  reader,  by  a  very  circuitous  and 
perhaps  a  very  tedious  route  from  New  York  to  Waterloo,  I 
kindly  leave  him  here,  with  the  comfort  and  consolation  that 
at  last  he  has  reached 


THE   END. 


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PERSONAL  HISTORY  OF 

SIS   $e  G&&39TT, 

ILLUSTRATED   WITH 

Twenty-five  New  and  Elegant  Full  Page  Engravings, 

In  Steel  and  Wood,  among  which  are  two  of  General  Grant,  by  the  best  Artiste  in  the  conn- 
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lvnder,  and  other  equally  interesting  and  important  Letters,  from  Originals  intrusted  to  the  au- 
thor by  General  Grant  and  his  friends. 

THE  MOST  POPULAR  BOOK  OF   THE  SEASON. 

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ivil  and  Military  Matters,  SLNCE  THE  WAR,  which  hav< 


Civ 


.  have  never  before  been  made  public. ' 

By  ALBERT  D.  RICHARDSON, 

AUTHOR  OP   ''FIELD,   DUNGEON,   AND  ESCAPE,"  AND   "BEYOND  THE  MISSISSIPPI." 


AUTHENTIC,  AUTHORIZED  AND  APPROVED, 

Written  with  the  knowledge,  consent,  and  full  concurrence  of  the  illustrious  General. 

In  view  of  the  prominent  position  now  occupied  by  General  Grant,  it  must  be  conceded  by  all 
that  a  full  and  truthful  history  of  him,  should  find  its  way  into  the  hands  of  every  reader. 

No  American  citizen  should  lice  under  any  President  with  whose  character  and  antecedents, 
both  public  and  private,  he  is  not  perfectly  fumviur. 

This  work  differs  very  essentially  from  the  many  "Lives  of  Grant,"  now  before  the  public, 
and  should  by  no  means  be  classified  with  them.  While  recording  his  illustrious  achieveui.  nts 
both  in  the  Field  and  in  the  Cabinet,  it  is  yet  personal,  rattier  than  martial,  or  political, 
free  from  military  technicalities  or  partisan  coloring,  d  'picting  not  merely  the  exploits  of  Giant, 
the  soldier,  but  the  entire  life  of  Grant  the  man,  his  daily  habits  and  conversation,  his  thoughts, 
and  his  motives,  as  evinced  by  his  acts  and  his  words,  under  all  of  the  many  different  circum- 
stances of  his  eventful  career,  giving,  in  fact,  a  full  and  clear  exhibit  of  the  inner,  as  Wt  '/'  as  the 
outer  man.  It  has  not  been  prepared  for  a  campaign  document,  but  for  the  library,  and  it  bag 
been  admitted  by  all  to  be  a  great  acquisition  to  the  biographical  literature  of  the  country.  It 
contains  560  pages,  and  in  mechanical  execution  is  fully  up  to  our  well  known  style.  Its  sub 
cription  price  is, 

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By   JUNIUS    HENRI    BROWNE. 

The  author  of  this  work  needs  no  endorsement.  His  well  known  signature,  as  a  leading  and 
popular  correspondent  of  the  press,  is  welcomed  at  thousands  of  firesides  in  the  laud.  His  hab- 
it s  of  close  observation,  his  long  experience  as  a  journalist,  and  his  acknowledged  talents  as  a 
v.  riter  have  all  been  drawn  upon  and  concentrated  for  mouths  upon  this  work. 

Rellecting  every  phase  of  Metropolitan  life  and  society,  giving  life-like  pictures  of  the  inter- 
esting localities  and  peculiar  institutions  of  New  York,  the  manners  and  customs  of  every  class 
of  its' people;  their  modes  and  habits  of  life;  how  and  where  they  live;  the  great  contest  for 
wealth  existing  among  them,  and  how  it  is  gained  and  how  lost ;  revealiug  scenes  of  wickedness 
and  of  misery  ;  exposing  the  tricks  of  the  dishonest,  and  the  traps  laid  for  the  unwary ;  in  fact, 
showing  up  the  whole  inner  life  of  the  great  heart  of  our  country,  in  a  manner  and  with  a  full- 
ness never  equalled.  This  volume  is  respectfully  offered  by  the  publishers,  with  implicit  faith 
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Over  Twenty  Appropriate  and  Spirited  Engravings. 

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THE    GREAT    REBELLION. 

A  HISTORY  OF  THE 

War  In  tit©  United  states* 

Embracing  an  authentic  account  of  the  whole  contest, 

BY  HON.  J.  T.  HEADLEY, 

Author   of  "Napoleon  and  his  Marshals"  "Washington  and  his  Generals,"  "Sacred 

Mountains,"  dec. 

IN    ENGLISH    AND    GERMAN. 


This  Great  Work  commences  with  the  first  outbreak  of  the  war,  and  gives  a  full 
and  truthful  account  of  the  terrible  struggle  to  its  very  end,  and  closing  with  the  Re- 
ports of  Generals  Grant  and  Sherman. 

Noting  each  important  and  interesting  event,  with  time  and  place  of  its  occurrence, 
with  perfect  accuracy,  stating  only  as  facts  those  things  which  are  well  authenticated, 
this  work  cannot  fail,  ere  long,  to  be  accepted  by  all  as  a  standard  authority,  and 
as  such  will  prove  of  immense  value  to  its  possessors  as  a  rook  for  reference,  and 
uo  library  will  be  considered  complete  without  a  copy  of  it  upon  its  shelves. 

This  work  is  printed  from  a  beautiful,  clear,  new  type,  on  good  paper,  and  is  illus- 
trated with  over  seventy  first-class  Steel  Engravings,  consisting  of  Military  and  Nav&l 
Scenes,  and  Portraits  of  Officers  prominent  in  the  war. 

It  will  be  beautifully  and  substantially  bound  iu  One  Superb  Volume  of  nearly 
Twelve  Hundred  Pages. 

Price,  Library  Style,  (Leather)  Sprinkled  Edge,  -  -  -      $5.00 

Embossed  Morocco,  do  do  -  -  -  5.00 

do  do  Gilt  do     -  -  -  -        5.50 

Agents  Wanted.    Apply  to  AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  CO., 

Hartford,  Conn. 

THE    SECRET    SERVICE, 

The  Field,  The  Dungeon  and   The  Escape. 

By   ALBERT  D.  RICHARDSON,  (Tribune  Correspondent.) 
The  above  work  embraces  the  entire  narrative  of 
Mr.  RICHARDSON'S  Unparalled  Experience  for  Four  Years. 

I.  Traveling  through  the  South  in  the  secret  service  of  the  Tribune,  at  the  outbrefik  of  the  War. 

II.  With  our  armies  and  fleets  both  Last  and  West,  during  the  first  two  years  of  the  Rebellion. 

III.  His  thrilling  capture  while  running  the  batteries  on  the  Mississippi  River  at  Vicksburg,where 
more  than  half  his  companions  were  either  killed  or  wounded. 

IV.  His  confinement  lor  twenty  months  in  seven  different  Rebel  Prisons. 

Y.  His  escape  and  almost  Miraculous  Journey  by  night,  of  nearly  400  miles,  aided  by  Negroes  and 
Union  Mountaineers  of  North  Carolina  and  Tennessee  through  the  enemy's  country  to  our  lines. 

t  abounds  in  stirring  events  never  before  given  to  the  public,  and  contains  minute  details  of 
the  escape,  which  have  not  yet  appeared,  including  a  description  of  DAN  ELMS,  the  famous  Union 
Pilot,  and  the  "UNKNOWN  GUIDE,"  in  the  person  of  a  Young  Lady,  who  piloted  Mr. 
Richardson  and  his  comrades  by  night  out  of  a  Rebel  ambush. 

In  view  of  the  author's  rich  material,  his  well  known  trustworthiness,  and  graphic  descriptive 

powers,  the  publishers  feel  justified  in  predicting  a  work  of  unusual  interest,  containing  more  of 

the  FACT,  INCIDENT  AND  ROMANCE  OF  THE  WAR,  than  any  other  which  has  yet  appeared. 

The  work    is  ottered    in  the  best  style  of  typography,  on  good  paper,  andcontainjc/ytJ/'500  Octavo 

Pages  and  Nineteen  Engravings. 

Price,  Cloth,  (neat  and  substantial,)        -.....-      $3.00 
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Eartfo-d,  Conn. 


NEW    -AJSTD    ENLARGED    EDITION 

OF 

RICHARDSON'S 

"BEYOND  THE  MISSISSIPPI." 

BROUGHT  FORWARD  TO  THE  SUMMER  OF  1869, 

DESCRIBING 

THE  OLD  WEST  AS  IT  WAS,  and  THE  NEW  WEST  AS  IT  IS, 

FROM  THE  GREAT  RIVER  TO  THE  GREAT  OCEAN. 

620  LARGE  OCTAVO  PAGES.— 216  ILLUSTRATIONS, 
and  the  most  Minute  and  Accurate  Map  of  the  country  in  existence. 

1857    to    1869. 

THE 

OPENING    OF    THE    PACIFIC    RAILROAD, 

its  Origin,  Progress,  and  Completion,  together  with  all  the  Great  Changes  in  the 
country  incident  thereto,  are  fully  and  faithfully  described.  It  gives  every  Station  on 
the  road.  Distances  apart,  and  such  other  Important  Statistics  as  render  it  invaluable  to  all. 

All  other  proposed  Railroad  Routes  to  the  Pacific  are  found  upon  its  map,  and  are 
duly  considered  and  explained.  All  subjects  connected  with  these  roads  are  fully 
written  up. 

This  work  gives  graphic  accounts  of  the  Progress  of  the  Western  half  of  our  con- 
tinent, and  the  most  romantic,  stirring,  and  picturesque  incidents  in  its  history. 

OF  MOHMONISM  AND  POLYGAMY  IN  UTAH, 

With  fine  Illustrations  of  Life  in  Salt  Lake  city,  of  Brigham  Young,  his  Wives, 
Children,  Residences,  &c.,  &c. 

Of  the  great  NATURAL  CURIOSITIES,  of  which  there  are  more  in  Western 
America  than  on  all  the  globe  beside  :  among  which  are  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
the  Sierra  Nevadas  ;  Pictured  Rocks  ;  Lakes  among  the  Clouds  ;  hundreds  of  Mineral 
Springs ;  Great  Salt  Lake  and  its  Basin  ;  the  Snake  River  Cataract  of  Idaho  ;  the 
Great  Falls  of  the  Missouri ;  the  unapproached  Scenery  of  Columbia  River  ;  the 
boundless  Forests  and  beautiful  Puget  Sound  of  far  Washington  Territory  ;  Pike's 
Peak;  Long's  Peak;  Mount  Shasta,  Mount  Hood,  Mount  Rainer;  the  Geysers,  Big 
Tree  Groves,  and  the  stupendous  Yosemite  Valley  of  California. 

It  describes  and  gives  views  of  THE  BIG  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO 
RIVER,  500  miles  long,  with  the  incredible  journey  of  James  White  through  it, 
upon  a  raft,  occupying  14  days,  during  7  of  which  White  was  without  food  ;  of  the 

DISCOVERY    AND    OPENING    UP    of  the 

NEW  WHITE  PINE  SILVER  REGION  OF  NEVADA, 

which  is  attracting  thousands  of  emigrants  and  causing  the  wildest  excitement  ever 
known  in  our  mining  history. 

COMPLETE  STATISTICS  OF  EACH  STATE  AMD  TERRITORY, 

in  Gold  and  Silver,  and  other  Products,  increase  of  Population,  number  of  acres  of 
Public  Land,  value  of  same,  surrounding  Markets,  with  the  inducements  offered  to 
settlers,  can  be  found  in  its  pages.  No  other  book  extant  contains  one-half  the  in- 
formation on  the  subject  contained  in  this. 

To  the  Emigrant,  to  the  Traveler,  and  to  all  others  whose  interests  or  inclinations 
draw  their  attention  westward,  this  book  will  be  invaluable,  treating  fully  of  this  part 
of  our  country,  its  vast  and  unequalled  resources,  and  of  the  comparative  extent, 
capabilities,  and  availabilities  of  its  different  sections,  giving  such  information  as  can 
be  obtained  from  no  other  source. 

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ILLUSTRATED 

if  §1¥  ©F  111  BIBL 


ITS  ORIGIN,  TRUTH,  AND  DIVINITY. 

Comprising  an  account  of  Patriarchs  and  Prophets,  the  scene  of  their  labors,  style 
of  their  writings,  character  of  their  prophecies,  and  the  time  and  manner  of  their 
deaths.  The  Life  of  Christ,  his  teachings,  miracles,  death,  resurrection  and  ascen- 
sion. The  Lives  and  Labors  of  the  Apostles,  the  Primitive  Fathers,  the  Martyrs  and 
other  prominent  defenders  of  the  Christian  Faith,  with  an  exposition  of  the  nature, 
design,  effect,  and  tinal  triumph  of  Christianity.  Giving  in  a  condensed  form,  a  re- 
liable and  comprehensive  survey  of  the  Christian  Church,  from  the  early  ages  down 
to  modern  times. 

EMBRACING  A   TERM   OF  OVER  3000  YEARS. 

BY  J.  E.  STEBBINS. 
Eighteen  Fine  Steel  Engravings, 

In  the  various  styles  of  the  art  and  by  the  best  artists,  with  a  large  map  of  °"cient 
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JNEW  QUARTO  PHOTOGRAPH  ~ 


With  Marginal  References,  Apochrypha,  Concordance,  an  Index, 
Family  Record,  The  Psalms  of  David  in  Metre; 

A  Table  of  Texts;  a  Table  of  Kindred  arid  affinity  ;  a  Table  of  Scripture  weights  and  meas- 
ure*; a  Table  of  Offices  and  Condition  of  Men  ;  a  Table  of  Passages  in  the  Old 
Testament  (paired  by  Ch'ist  and  //is  Apostles ;  and  what  has  never- 
been  added,  an  Account  of  the  Lives  and  Martyrdom  of 

THE   APOSTLES    AND   EVANGELISTS. 

ILLUSTRATED     WITH    BEAUTIFUL    STEEL    ENGRAVINGS. 

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